Chronicles of the Watcher
by Grausam Impuls
Summary: Raven has lived a very, very long time, nigh on a thousand years. This story is sort of a chronicle of his thoughts throughout the time, starting from when he was first killed, and hitting points of his very long life, and how he comes to grips with his immortality, his developing powers, his loss of various senses, and how it affects his sanity. Written in epistolary format.
1. 13th Century, Holy Roman Empire

A/N: Some graphic descriptions of violence are scattered in the story.

–

 **4 April.**

I have decided, in light of my current situation, to start recording some of my travels. I have a large codex, ink, and quills, and I have been lucky to acquire literacy in my time, and so I feel using it so perhaps if someone were to read these eventually, if I should actually end up not as the abomination that I think I am, they would learn somewhat about the situation of one who was literally rejected by the afterlife.

I know the day since I inquired about it in town. This codex may be the only way I keep track of time. It may be ponderous to carry, but I am luckily quite fit from my endeavors.

It has been about a month since I awoke in a pool of drying blood. I still remember the pain. Oddly, I am somewhat intrigued by it. Pain is normally not something one strives for...but I occasionally find my brain wandering back to the feeling that I had. I cannot say why, but perhaps it is because I feel a few of my other senses have been dulled, though I can't be quite sure. Perhaps it is trauma. Perhaps they will return. My eyesight is as sharp as ever, and I swear I can hear even better than before, but taste, touch, and somewhat smell feel dulled. When I tasted a meal at an inn, I thought it bland, but I remembered the place-being near my home-having fairly good fare.

My body feels different as well. Colder. I sometimes think my heart randomly stops beating at times, but am not sure. I wonder if I breathe out of habit. I try to avoid places mostly which once knew me, though I was not particularly well known. My hair, which was always fair, has gone white. I swear it grows faster now, though I am not sure.

Truth is, I feel half dead, and my dreams tend to be disturbing. Sometimes I find my thoughts getting even more so. Other times I do not dream, and it feels even worse.

Perhaps that is enough for my first entry.

Tomorrow I will set forth. Maybe south. I will move slowly, as I feel like I need to clear my head from all that I had experienced.

 **6 April.**

I realized in my travels-I am camped somewhere in a small set of wooded foothills-that I never did explain my situation. If I am to record things properly, perhaps whoever gets this should know what happened.

Suffice it to say, I was killed, but I woke up. You may ask if I am certain of this fact. Perhaps I was just gravely wounded and recovered, as this is not impossible. How can one be sure they were dead if they do not know what being dead is like?

I am certain I was dead.

But there was no Valhalla waiting for me...or Heaven or Hell for that matter.

There was pain.

Crows-messengers of the dead-staring at me. I never knew such pain existed, as it felt like thousands of hot blades being repeatedly shoved through my body again and again, for what seemed to be an eternity, but turned out to be no more than a day, if that.

I don't much remember the death. We were ambushed, and I was shot down with arrows and stabbed. The pain I felt afterward was a hundred times worse.

When I woke up, I was in my current state. Covered in bloody, battered clothing, I went into hiding for several days to gather my thoughts.

I doubt the rest is of interest to anyone. It does not matter-I'm here now and wondering what to do.

I will say that I feel I should sleep...but I don't think my body needs it. Everything I do is out of habit.

 **7 April**

I believe this large swath of forest is home to a few bandit groups. I do not fear them; despite no longer having my sword, I have a dagger and common rabble are easily handled with just my bare hands. I can easily send a few of them to the ground to maybe rethink things.

I kill if I must, but many of them are desperate men driven to their lives through unfortunate means.

 **8 April**

A day's travel into the forest, I have to say it's quite pleasant. I managed to ambush a small deer today with my dagger; I moved a lot quicker than I thought I could, and was able to hold it with much more ease than I remember, but perhaps I was just hungry for something other than endless salt beef. Not even caring about bringing bandits down on my head I set a fire for the night to camp. The fresh meat was fairly comforting, even if I cannot taste as well as I used to. The texture was different enough, and it was quite red, giving it the tinge of blood.

Some ravens came to visit me. I found it odd, but had enough to share with them. I felt surprisingly at home this night, the moon was out and for once I felt somewhat peaceful, even if I still feel strange.

 **10 April**

I am perhaps halfway through the woods; the morning is warm though the sun is hidden behind thick clouds. I had not spent this much time alone in nature in ages; it has always been the part of a larger unit. I think I soon may enjoy some conversation again in a town.

 **10 April**

You may ask why I wrote twice in one day, or why this page, and some of the codex, is now smeared with blood. Sure enough, I was waylaid by bandits, much like I suspected, as I am a lone man who, without his armor, sword, or shield, does not look like much of a threat. I am larger than many commoners, but do not particularly put on the countenance of an extremely dangerous man. They outnumbered me seven to one, as well.

I have apparently woken up from my death-which I am now fully convinced it was-with power far beyond my comprehension.

I simply caught one off guard with a simple punch. Enough to perhaps break his nose it it hit square, or so I thought.

My surprise when my fist collapsed half of his face in as if it were made of brittle clay must have been palpable. It must have surprised them, as well, given their reaction. The man dropped screaming; I could think of nothing in the heat of battle than to try to put him out of his misery. The side of his face was a mask of blood and broken bone. I can still see the way he looked at me with his good eye.

Forgive this entry. It is not going to be pretty.

I thought a well placed blow from my heel would simply put him out quickly, but again I had no idea what sort of power I had; his skull shattered to pieces when my boot struck it.

I have no idea where this strength came from.

One by one they came at me with weapons drawn in a panic, having seen their fellow destroyed in such a brutal and bloody manner, and I remember getting a dagger in my chest...and their expressions when I stood after falling over. It is at this point where I felt a red haze take over me, far worse than any battle lust I may have fallen into on the field in my life.

Afterward I stood, a broken sword in my shoulder that I barely felt, a dagger in my ribs that for all intents and purposes should have ended me, a knife through my left eye which should have killed me twice, and the bodies-nay, pieces-of seven bandits scattered around my general vicinity. I don't think I had ever been covered in as much blood and viscera before, and I had fought in many, many battles. Granted, I was usually armored, and I had seen many an atrocity...but this was different. The corpses looked as if they had been hit by siege weaponry...only I knew I had done this with my bare hands. The dagger still remained on my belt, sheathed.

I did not know what disturbed me more about this day-the condition I was in...or how indifferent I was to it all.

I would like to clear my head now. Perhaps when I recover I will write more.

 **April?**

I have lost track of days; I think it may still be April, but it has been roughly two weeks-I think-since I slaughtered the bandits.

I will use this to collect my thoughts from the past days.

Washing in a nearby stream afterward, my old set of clothes were ruined, save for my heavy boots, which I was simply able to wash. The rest of my clothing had too many tears and slashes in it. I luckily had one change with me, though it turned out to be all black; I suppose it suits my current...situation. A cloak, tunic and trousers, I now almost resemble one of the skulking assassins one might find. A far cry from a past anointed knight, though that life I feel is long behind me now.

I am completely healed. I was completely healed within moments. After I was stabbed in the chest, I knew my heart stopped, but I woke up. I could feel the pain of the blows. I was slashed, chopped at and cut many times. It only carried me forward, making me want to fight more, harder, more brutal.

It was far beyond battle-rage. It was something completely different. I don't know what.

My eye healed as well. I can see perfectly, though when I glanced at it the next day, instead of the red hole that was there-which somehow did not even bother me-my eye reformed with its color not the same as my other, when I looked at it in the stream. It is a strange golden color now. I do not know what to make of it, but I fear if I think too much about things my already short grasp of sanity may fray even more.

I had left the ruined corpses-what was left-where they fell. Being bandits, their deaths will not be mourned even if they are discovered by humans before the wild animals get to them, if there was even enough left.

The ravens came to me again as I sat at my fire. I may need to head to a close town soon to restock supplies. I had lived off of what I could hunt the past days, as I was unsure I wanted to be around people after the incident.

I apologize for the disjointed nature of my writing now. I simply need to come to grips with things.

 **May X.**

Managed to find a small town. The people were clearly uncomfortable around me. I do not blame them.

I restocked what things I had and moved on. I have no shortage of money; I had taken what the bandits had-they no longer needed it-and I can hold out. If necessary I am able to find other ways to procure things.

Still heading south east, toward Hungary. I am still in the Holy Empire. I look forward to moving to a new area. Perhaps it will let me clear my head more.

 **May.**

The day is no longer important. I wake when I do, and do something that resembles sleep when it grows dark, though I feel like I have been awake more nights lately and taking more time during the day to rest.

I found more bandits last night.

I found their camp...but I for some reason did not pass them by. I alerted them to my existence before disappearing into the darkness and dropping on one from above like a bird of prey might. My boot took his head off.

Why I did this I do not know. I...feel like I wanted to fight them.

The result was much like last time. I left them in torn and bloody pieces. I'm not sure I like what I have become. I let them hit me, though. I let them get blows with their swords on me, since somehow I subconsciously knew they would not kill me. Like last time, it made me grow more bloodthirsty.

I took a dagger from a fallen one and rigged that and my own on each of my arms, more like animal claws. I feel it is more fitting.

 **May.**

In town, I sat hunched over beer and meat, when I overheard people talking about finding bandits that were seemingly ripped apart by wild beasts.

Their relief was obvious. It did not even bother them they were left in pieces it would seem. They were happy they were dead.

I suppose I am happy I could oblige them, though I'm not sure how I feel about the wild beast comment.

Accurate, I think.

 **June?**

It is summer, to be sure. It has been awhile since I decided to put my thoughts in this codex. I have come across a possible dwelling. An abandoned stone tower, near the border of the Holy Empire and Hungary, though tucked away near some forest. I suppose it may have been a waycastle some years ago, though unused.

Inside, I was able to fashion a sort of place to stay. A large window lets in light if I am awake during daylight hours, and I don't need much sleep anyway.

I am convinced I am now immortal. I have ended up in a few more fights, all of which I allowed my opponents to strike at me with full force. I do this now, as it feels like this is some of the little left I can experience. It drives my adrenaline and clouds my brain with a killing haze. I suppose I am now mad, though I guess that is what the gods deemed to do to me, so I accept it.

If I am to be some sort of wild savior of the countryside, so be it. Perhaps I was punished.

As a knight, I did not always do things that the common people would be considered 'good'. In fact, I probably did some despicable things in the name of whatever the church, of which I fell out of belief with, told me to.

Perhaps this is my penance. Living for an unknown amount of time, losing my feeling. Food tastes bland no matter what I put on it, though I am able to keep myself fed through hunting. I was gifted with inhuman physical strength of which I can use to tear enemies to pieces with, so I suppose if I run about and destroy those who might do harm to the common folk, no matter how gruesomely, perhaps I can make up for some of the wrongs I have done in the name of the church.

I wish I could perhaps tell those what awaits them for their supposed good service. But no need, since I have started to turn on the ones who would start to harm the more common folk as well too. Their armor tears under my grasp as if it were made of leaves. I leave the conscripts be. I know which to go after, as I had fought as one for years.

I do not know the reason behind what happened, so perhaps my mind is just trying to set itself at ease justifying my near obsession with finding battles in which I can try to die in only to let it fuel me and turn the tables on my opponents in a horrific fashion.

I hear the ravens in my window. I am sitting outside of my tower writing this. I will go feed them now. I find I prefer their company more to people these days, though it may be that they seem to feel me wrong. I do not blame them.

It's a shame they see the ravens as bad omens. They are intelligent. Three of them have been coming around and they seem to know me by my appearance.

I do not know if I will get back to this codex. Perhaps if I end up dying after all, someone may find it. Or perhaps I will get back to it after a time.

Time is something that I feel I am going to have a lot of.

–

A/N:

So figuring out Raven's vast powers, it seems like he developed them after his immortality hit. He has a lot of everything; extreme magical knowledge and vast physical power. I sort of thought that the magic would have been developed over time, but his first powers were probably physical(his physical strength is so great he can do everything from lift Potemkin effortlessly with one arm, to block a sword thrust from Sol, the latter being unable to budge him...and he did it with two fingers in the novel, not to mention how he fights with blades on two fingers he's so powerful. ) I thought it would be interesting to see him find out he has some of his powers accidentally; he never even thought to use that much force beforehand.

Raven's mother tongue is German, however he's clearly at least bilingual in game(possibly multilingual), but I stick with English for the story for clarity.

He's very well spoken in the official source material, giving me an idea he was educated. I wonder if his dialogue will change over the course of the story...

This story will prove to be pretty fun to do I think.


	2. 15th Century, Wallachia

A/N: Some graphic descriptions of violence in this chapter as well.

 **July 3.**

I have discovered this codex again among my items, and decided that perhaps I should pick up where I left off about two hundred years before. This parchment is wonderfully treated as I can still read everything clearly. It even kept the bloodstains.

I have a way of telling the days again, and this made me glad.

I write from a small, abandoned castle in a remote part of Wallachia, near the Carpathian Mountains. I had decided to take it for myself, as it was in ruins, unused, and I wanted to settle for awhile. No one knows I am here or who I am. Only three men had come into the castle and had ill will against me for some reason. I suppose they were tasked with taking it for their lord.

I slaughtered all three. It was perhaps harsh, but I did not feel like giving up my temporary home.

It is high summer, and hot, though I find it does not bother me as my senses had dulled even more in the past centuries. Yes, centuries. It feels so strange to write that, as if I were not some sort of strange abomination I would have been dead when they ended me in the battle, but I was resurrected to live on. I still do not know what caused it, or what gave me my monstrous strength, or what caused me to be unable to die in seemingly any way. I should have died several times over the past years, but I immediately come back-often with renewed vigor. I feel...revitalized after a battle.

I have not aged in two hundred years. I believe I was two or three years shy of thirty when I was killed, though I do not remember too well. My memory grows hazy of the earliest times, and all I know I was mostly reminded of from finding this book, so I am somewhat grateful that I had come across it.

I probably do not need to eat, but do so out of habit. I do feel hunger from time to time. If I feel thirst, I drink. I can provide for myself. I try to go into settlements as little as possible, as humans seem to have an almost aversion to me. Not that I can blame them, as I suppose I bend the very aura around myself, if there is such a thing.

I will return after I feed the ravens upstairs to explain some things of the last two centuries.

 **July 5.**

Thinking back, the plague had to be one of the worst things to experience. I believe I was infected, though I am not sure. Thousands upon thousands of people died from the horrible sickness. I could not stop it. I do not know what caused it to spread, though I believe the people are wrong in some of their guessing. I think I carried some strange instinct back with me from whatever afterlife I had experienced, though I otherwise know nothing.

I earned my keep as a sort of examiner of the dead. Wearing a strange, bird-like mask and all black, I examined many people. Unlike some of the others, I knew I could do nothing for them, though I tried to ease their suffering somewhat the best I could. The outfit was strange, and was supposed to keep the fellow doctors as they called themselves from getting sick by protecting against the miasma, but as most of them died anyway this also led to my doubts on their theories, but their views were quite stuck.

I think seeing so many people die while I still lived on affected me even more. I did not see any of them come back. What was it I did to deserve what seems to be immortality? Why did they choose a simple soldier over one of many others? I suppose if I think about it too hard I will go madder than I feel I am.

I continued on through the Holy Roman Empire again, though it, and many other borders, have changed through various wars and battles, new leaders, lords, and kings taking over, usurping the old. I traveled through Bavaria and Habsburg. Eventually the plague had killed all it would, which, if I had to estimate, was a massive portion of the population. I wonder how much it has recovered. Surely, things were left in turmoil.

I had idly thought about fighting again, but I had no allegiance, nor wanted any. I still fought, though on my own terms, and delivered my own brand of justice. For reasons unknown, certain acts drive me mad. Also, there is my strange draw to pain...as my dulling senses do not really lend me much else.

As I have mentioned in other writings, food grows bland. I eat when I must, though I feel I have lost weight due to not caring too much about it. I still have muscle and am stronger than anything human or beast, so it does not matter, as nothing strains me to physically lift or break. Wind feels like wind, but I do not really get to enjoy a warm breeze on my skin like I did, as it all feels the same. Extreme heat and extreme cold affect me, though sticking my hand in a fire does nothing but scorch the skin quickly before it heals, but it does give me some excitement to do so.

I sometimes make it a point to visit towns to see what is happening, or if I lose sight of some humanity, which does happen from time to time. I feel the people sense there is something wrong with me though, so I do not stay too long. I do not wish to make common people uncomfortable. I come from fairly humble, though luckily educated, beginnings, and I somewhat still feel ties to it. I think this is what pushes me somewhat to help defend them when need be, besides my own seeming growing attachment to carnage, though I think I do not want to discuss that in this entry.

I think today I will study a few tomes I have discovered in my travels. I find it clears my mind. I also have found I enjoy heights and high places. I have taken my room in the very top of the castle. While I do not get the same pleasure of the wind and smells of nature, being near the sky is somehow comforting.

 **July 6.**

Today was quite horrid.

I came across a slew of people, impaled on spikes. They were suffering greatly, as one could guess, and unlike myself, they did not enjoy their situation. The stench would have been unbearable, I imagine, but I could barely smell anything given my dulled senses. There were several already dead, birds and flies surrounding them. The ravens flew off when they saw me. I seem to have a strange rapport with the large black birds.

I went to each one and ended their lives out of mercy. I wore the blades I had fixed to my fingers, and simply drove them into the base of their skulls quickly. I like these new weapons, as I feel they suit me.

The nearby knights did not appreciate what I did. It was clear they had impaled these people. It also became clear they had a similar plan for me.

I did not resist.

I will spare you the worst details, but the looks on their faces as I snapped the bloody stake in two and pulled myself off of it-my heart racing from the blinding pain-was something I may not forget for a century or so. Bleeding still, and with a murderous haze in my eyes, I planted the stake into the ground and ran at them, dismembering them as easily as a wolf would kill a rat. I was so...excited. They caused me pain I had not felt in ages, and this somehow pleased me.

It pleased me, and then it made me want to kill.

They scattered, but it didn't matter; they swung at me wildly, as if they did not know what to do about a man who pulled himself off of a stake which should have killed him. Or did kill him for a few moments. My mind is hazy.

I do not know what has become of me, but if this is who I am, so be it. There are seemingly a lot of these men around, doing these despicable deeds for their leader.

He may have brought law and order, but I cannot abide by some of these actions.

I will continue to bring mercy to those I find. If they try to stop me, they will not leave the spot.

 **July 10.**

The past several days have been very quiet. I do not mind this. I was hoping to attempt to get some peace of mind with my somewhat disturbing existence.

 **July 14.**

I have just taken to hunting the more evil ones down when they get somewhere in the vicinity of the castle. They often don't know what hit them, though I have started to let them attack me at will to keep my killing haze at its peak.

Today was a particularly black one, somewhat worse than any I have had so far. Stiflingly hot to the point where even I had felt it, I had come across a small thicket of tormented souls on their telltale pikes and went to end them. There were many men this time that came out to find me. I believe they have been told about my presence.

Several filled me with crossbow bolts. They had no idea what to do as I pulled them out one by one, each one with barbed heads which tore my flesh in a fountain of blood. One stuck out of my head as if it were a horn. I threw one through the skull of a man approaching me, causing his partner to flee, though I was much faster. I remember the feel of arrows and bolts piercings me well.

I don't know if it was the pain of the bolts, or the swords that descended upon me, or the overall feeling I had toward people who could spike undeserving people in the stifling heat to die slowly, but I was particularly gruesome with this unit. It could have perhaps been the memories I had of my original death, fuzzy as they were. The bolts and blades woke something up inside of me that was truly horrifying.

Hazy, red memories remain, though with a touch more clarity than usual. Every bolt and blade that hit made me tear another to shreds with even more glee than the one before. It got to the point where I was so enthralled with destruction and so focused on vengeance that I staked one to the ground through the shoulder, using one of the very stakes on hand, and wholly crushed his body to a pulp where he lay; the few left collapsed in surrender at the horror as he screamed the moments he still lived, unable to escape. I recall possibly laughing as I did this, though perhaps I am trying to push that thought out.

I tore the remaining men to pieces while I was drenched in blood even as they tried to surrender.

I fear I am actually enjoying it now.

They deserved it, did they not?

 **July 20.**

I do not know if I like what I am becoming. Or already have become.

 **August 3.**

I may consider leaving this place soon. Going somewhere. I don't know where yet.

The leader of this land continues his brutal reign, and I cannot abide in it. But I also do not like how I have started to enjoy murdering the retinue of troops who carry out the darker deeds. It is one thing to enjoy bringing justice, or even vengeance I feel, though the latter is its own path toward darkness.

I fear I have started to revel in murder. At first, it is never that bad. If I kill two or three before they can hurt me, I feel little. If they are allowed to hurt me, I wish them to do it more and more. Something twisted inside of me I fear in my short path to the other side. I do not know what. I do not know where I crossed over to, and what, if anything, infected my brain.

I need to separate myself from what is causing it. I have thinking I must do.

 **August 20.**

I have started on my way. Where I will go now, I am not sure. Perhaps back close to Bavaria. I like the scenery.

I had a small dream for some moments. I do not remember much, but the name Falke came to my mind. I do not know why. I don't remember my own name. Was this it? I have no one I can ask, as any family I may have had are long dead.

Perhaps I will revisit this tome again one day. If not, I hope it is found intact so one may study it.

–

A/N: Simply Raven continuing his big journal. I thought Wallachia during the reign of Vlad III Dracula/Vlad the Impaler would be fairly appropriate for one chapter. It's a bit strange to write this as some of the things were real life doings, though sort of also based on fiction(much like how Dracula took snippets of actual history and of course mixed it with the fiction. Which, yes, this story was pretty heavily inspired by Bram Stoker's work.)

Raven can get exceptionally violent in the lore, particularly how his power increases a ton, as well as his moves become more violent, as he takes pain. I imagine in a darker situation it wouldn't be pretty.


	3. 16th Century, Trier

A/N: This chapter also has some graphic violence, so just dropping the warning.

* * *

 **1592, March 13.**

It continues. We try to cleanse the land of the possible daemonic taint.

We have a few we will put on the stakes tomorrow. Three men and two women.

One of the men disturbs me. While the others fought like the hells to not be captured, this one seemed to come willingly. Perhaps he may have had a change of heart of his unwholesome ways, and wishes to repent and die cleansing himself. God may be merciful to one who repents.

He either cannot remember his name, perhaps from magickal curses, or he is not telling us. We have taken to calling him the Raven, as he sits there with the birds seemingly talking to him in his cell. They fly in through the window. We cannot seem to keep them out, and they return when we leave. So be it, it will be over soon.

I must go take care of some preparations.

 **1592, March 14.**

I thought I would have been writing today after the executions, but I will end up writing two times.

This morning, one of the guards, coming to the cell where the Raven was, killed one of the birds with his blade. It was on the floor, brazenly eating some leftover food that was on the plate that we left.

The Raven-the man I speak of, stood, calmly reached over, and smashed his head into the stone wall, killing him instantly. He has strength that only hell could provide. He must have been greatly angered to have such strength, and even then it is far beyond anything I have ever witnessed. But he then calmed and did not attack the others when they came to get the corpse.

My stomach is churning, as I feel a dangerous premonition. Perhaps...no, we are not wrong. We cannot be.

 **1592, March 14.**

We were wrong. I know this now. We are the ones being punished for what we have done.

When we brought them there-as we always do-they went willingly. Most of them looked afraid, save for the Raven. Still wearing the clothes we brought them in with, we marched them out. We no longer bothered going through the trappings we usually have.

Or had. Never again will I do this. Never again will I harm another living soul. I am close to going on my own pilgrimage to find out what I even believe anymore.

The day started as normal. We walked the five to the stakes, the people gathered around. Even fewer this time, and they had become more unruly, which had been another small feeling that something was not right, but I had pushed it down. The last time, the people started throwing wood up onto the fire, to speed it up. At first, they were going along with us.

I should have listened to that feeling. I suppose I am lucky I escaped with my life today.

The Raven shrugged off his cloak and tunic, which we thought strange; people prefer clothing as it tends to burn and cause death quicker due to smoke and fire. The look in his strange, cursed eyes was far more calm than the others. His heavy boots and leather trousers were likewise going to be extremely slow to burn. I thought he wishing to prolong his demise out of some sort of self-punishment.

The first five minutes were typical.

It was typical until the Raven broke his bonds as if they were thread. Most of the guards were dumbfounded. He then proceeded to walk over to each person, who were already badly burned at the legs, gently held their heads a moment and swiftly broke their necks.

I don't think I had ever seen anyone kill with that much sympathy before.

Despite blisters appearing on his arms and chest, he did not seem to even mind. His hair was somehow untouched. He had mercy killed the others, who likely would have died if he had tried to rescue them. He did it so quickly the guards could not react.

And then the true horror started.

He reached down, as the stakes were set up some small height off the ground, picked up the inquisitor by the face with one hand and held him in the flames as if he were as light as parchment. One guard tried to run frantically at him up to the pyre, but before he could ascend it a swift kick from the Raven's heavy boot struck him square in the face and caved in his head instantly. The Raven did not even turn around to look at him, kicking him away as if he were vermin. The sight of the remains, his head a broken mass of gore and bone, made one guard sick before he ran, terrified. The inquisitor's screams reached the level that the condemned would usually reach. In a sort of frantically mad moment, I thought the guard lucky he did not suffer as by the look he did not even know what hit him.

The Raven's arm was burning as well, but he did not budge. People had started to run. No one knew what to do. How could we? None of the accused had actually ended up doing anything.

After letting the inquisitor burn in the flames, as his screams reached a fever pitch, the Raven squeezed his head, killing him instantly in a rain of gore. He then turned his cursed eyes onto the rest of the guard, on all of us.

He spoke only one sentence.

"That was almost warm."

And then he smiled. I will never forget it.

I do not wish to dwell on everything that happened, but I will record some of it for the history books before I leave this place forever.

The guard who remained, bless their souls, were brave running at the man who seemingly could not die. Blades seemed to push him on and make him hungrier for violence. The men were broken to pieces or torn limb from limb from the Raven's mad strength, and gods save me, I heard him laughing. As he fought, his burns actually began to heal. I have never, ever, witnessed such nightmare.

He did not attack the townspeople, I should say. He was only after us.

Why am I alive, do you ask?

I was crawling away through the carnage. On my hands and knees, through the stench of smoke and blood, through the viscera of my former comrades. I am not a warrior, but simply a scholar who writes the deeds, so I was almost paralyzed with fear.

I felt a boot on the back of my head pinning me to the blood soaked ground. He found me. He pressed down for just a moment, and I felt I would die. At least, I thought, the gods deem me possibly suited to die quickly. I tried to find a prayer, but I could not, since at this point my faith had wavered. I no longer knew what to believe.

After a few moments, my head beginning to actually hurt, he let up and kicked me onto my back. I was staring up at the tall man, as the Raven was about half a head taller than most other men, as he pinned me to the ground. Besides various wounds, a dagger stuck out of his shoulder, right near his neck. It did not seem to bother him. His burns had already almost healed. His arm which he had used to burn the inquisitor with had some markings left, but that was the extent of them.

He finally spoke as he glared down at me.

"I have seen you. You keep written history," were his words. His voice was a bit shaky, almost like he was excited, and the look in his eyes was frantic.

I nodded, unable to look away. His mismatched eyes bored holes into me. They looked like a man who had just enjoyed what he did. His pale skin was drenched in blood, as were his leather trousers and boots. His fairly long, unkempt hair was stark white through the blood.

"Record this. I want those to know who repeat this more may follow."

I told him that I was misled. He did not seem to listen, but stood off of me and left the square...and presumably the town. An unkindness of ravens followed. Never have they been more suitably named.

So this is it. I have renounced the God that has supposedly told these things. Any God who leads us into this sort of ruin is not one who cares of mankind. He had to have been sent to punish us.

I know not where I will go. I simply need to leave. I leave this book at a library, with the note that this section in particular should be read.

These people are innocent.

When I die, may whatever gods are true have mercy on my soul.

I am sorry.

–-

 **28 March.**

It has been two weeks since my escape. I had allowed myself to be captured when I seen what was happening.

Retribution, as usual, was swift, bloody, and brutal, the only way I can seem to deliver it. The man I let live, I hope he uses his ability to chronicle history for something other than telling how many of these witches and warlocks he burned. The Raven, they called me. I find it a bit insulting they would refer to me as an object. Raven, now, since I do not know my real name for certain, perhaps this could work.

Magick. This is something that gets brought up. Magick and witchcraft. What is it? I have delved into books, books about daemonology and books about other worldly forces, and I am not sure if it exists. But I am also not sure that it does not. I do not think these people they burned, which numbered some hundreds, know this magick.

But I think I feel something. The ravens. I seem to have a sort of un-natural rapport with them. I do not know why. I almost feel like at times I can control them, but I know I cannot. They seem to come if I call them, however. Perhaps I will figure it out.

Or I will not. Time will tell.

For those who may read this, I am near the Holy Roman Empire again, which has gotten much smaller since my earliest days in it. I am not sure of the exact name of the place, as I travel much. I simply had come across the horrors of some of the religious fanatics and felt that I wanted to step in. I wonder how many have come before or how many will come again, but I think that one area should be fairly safe for awhile.

I had gotten another tunic and long cloak and went on my way again. I am taking my time to look around the forested areas, which I find I like. Forests and mountains. I know there are some mountains fairly closeby that I think I would like to visit next.

I shall tell a brief account of how I came about doing what I have done, since I know anyone reading my codex may wonder what I speak of.

 **30 March.**

I apologize for the disjointed entries.

To explain more about the last entry, I had come across these sort of trials that they were holding for people suspected of using magicks. Most of them, as I stated, were likely not involved, but they were killed anyway. Mostly burned at the stake alive, sometimes hung, other times tortured.

It was quite black, and I grew somewhat angered over what was happening in the name of their invisible god again.

Some men had looked at me with suspicion when I stopped into a town for a night. I devised a quick plan.

Leaving, I buried several of my most precious items, this codex namely, along with an old silver piece that I had gotten and had never gotten rid of, that I keep on hand as simply some sort of memory. I wrapped them up well and buried them deep to keep them safe. I knew I would remember the tree.

Heading back in, I made some of my obvious and suspicious motions and sure enough, they caught me in the act of some of my fake magickal actions. They proceeded to put me into a rather dank dungeon. I was only there for a short time, as they did not bother taking too long before executions. There had apparently been one just two days before I arrived. Pity I did not arrive sooner.

I could not abide in the actions of one guard. I had taken to feeding a few of the ravens that visited my cell a bit of the meager leftover food I was given, since I rarely grow hungry and prefer to subside on meat when I do for some reason, with the occasional exception of a freshly made tart.

One of the men killed one of the ravens as a pest. I smashed his head against the wall for his trouble. They seemed alarmed, and one man, the one who wrote their deeds into a large book, much like I am doing now, seemed even more troubled than the rest.

As they tied me to the stake, I waited and broke free. I wish I had broke free before so I could maybe spare the four others that were with me, but given the amount of guards, many of which had ranged weapons, I assume they would have been killed anyway. Forgive me if I was wrong.

I burned the lead inquisitor before crushing his skull. As always, the pain drove me on. I will refrain from most of the details this time, but I do believe that the man I had let live will go on and perhaps do something different with his life.

I think that is enough unpleasantness for now. Maybe I will try to write something nicer next time.

 **5 April.**

Writing about the fresh tart a few days ago cause me to go into another town early in my travels on the way to the mountains. They had an inn that served delightful ones, that were so richly spiced and sweetened that I could actually taste them. I believe they were blackberry. I ate three there, and acquired four to take with me on my journey to go along with the rest of the deer I had hunted. I still have two. They were so hot when given to me that I was actually able to somewhat enjoy it. My mouth healed very quickly.

 **10 April.**

I have reached some mountains. Moving south quickly, I rarely tire and can move alarming speeds. I am starting to take more advantage of my inhuman physical ability for more than just killing.

I had started to climb, enjoying the heights. Sometimes using rough paths, and other times using the knives I had strapped to my hands to dig into the crevices. As usual, some ravens had followed me on my journey. I welcome the company, though they are not welcome to my last tart.

I think I like being up here because it takes me away from things. I am able to look out over things and see so much more. As I sit in this small outcropping that I have set my somewhat humble camp in, I can see one small village, and a larger town, as the sun is still up. Over to the west I can see a castle. I wonder what might be going on at these places.

I think I will go somewhat higher. I only wish I could capture some of what I am seeing for everyone, but I fear I was not gifted with the ability that some others were.

 **11 April.**

I decided to finish my last tart after warming it over the fire. I saved a tiny bit of the crust for the ravens after all. It is spring, and I believe one of them is nesting. Pity I cannot get more. There is so little that I am able to taste these days.

 **13 April.**

I have been up above now for a few days. I think I will make my way through the mountains and continue south. I have enjoyed the land from up here greatly. I do not know how much of this I will remember if I keep living, but I hope this book helps with that.

I cannot tell if the air is warm or cool. It all feels about the same to me. It is hard to describe, it feels like it is typically fairly comfortable, so I cannot complain. I sometimes miss feeling the differences, the very hot days, the very cold, and I miss some of the warm air. I can still, at least, feel it somewhat on extreme days. Ordinary people must be suffering greatly those days, however.

Out of boredom, I fashioned a set of weapons. Taking thin dirks, breaking the ends off and adjusting them with steel and leather, I can wear them on my first and second fingers of either hand, giving me a set of claws somewhat like an animal. My fingers are strong enough now that it is no matter what I cut through with them.

Boredom comes easily these days. Sometimes, I grow a bit weary and imagine what the other side may be like, if there is one. I'm not sure anymore. I feel very little connection to anything spiritual, to be honest. Sometimes I find something new to delve into for a short while, however, and it keeps me focused.

My darker days when I end up going on a killing rampage...I try to tell myself it is to make the world a better place, since I choose my targets carefully, and not to satiate a strange thirst that I fear I may have picked up from the other side.

I try to pick up a tome of sorts now and again on my travels. When my pack grows too cluttered, I leave one behind. Carrying them is of no issue, but space is.

I suppose that is enough for now. If I think of something that may be of interest, I will of course come back to chronicle more like I have been.

I shall continue through and see where my next journey takes me.

–-

A/N: Looking over some information, the average height of men in the 1600s was roughly in the 170cm range, and given Raven is over 180, it would have made him about half a head taller than most men back then, hence the size comparison.

Sort of borrowing again from the Dracula influence, writing two different PoVs in two different sections I thought would be a neat way to tell the story(as well as giving two different rough takes of the day.)


	4. 17th Century, Tuscany

**6 August.**

Once again I have not visited this tome in a long time, though that seems to be a habit. Perhaps I forget about it, or perhaps I just prefer to let things sink in for some time. I do not know.

Going back through it, it is incredible how things have changed over the centuries. Four centuries now, slightly more, though to be honest singular years mean so little to me. I believe I have started counting more by decade.

The past decades have been actually rather delightful. Science. Science and discovery. Studying the stars and planets in the sky. They discovered a concept, gravitas. I could go on and on, but I am sure that many of these things will become fairly well situated in many books and many minds over the next decades. It would take far too long to get into everything, though I am sure I will end up discussing some of it.

Things were dark for awhile still, until these discoveries started happening. I have not taken part as much as I have enjoyed studying the outcome. I have acquired a rather delightful abode, the tower of a large library. I should explain how I have came of this.

The huge library was running into problems with thieves and other saboteurs. I had manage to catch and scare off two of them one night. No, I did not kill these two, as I could tell they acted more out of misguidance than maliciousness, but I did put quite the terror into them.

This seemed to please the overseers, and while I could sense their slight uncomfortable nature, I acquired a sort of role as the guardian of the place. In return, I get to reside in a tall tower off to the side, up high where I like where I can gaze over the land as there is a very pleasant view. As per usual, the ravens come to reside, though I must keep the books safe. They luckily did not notice my more inhuman strength, which I fear may have frightened them.

I also get access to any books I wish to read, and this is the reason why I took on this role. I travel out of boredom, and these massive rows of books, rows that go up so high above they need enormous ladders to reach them, are more than enough to keep me busy, and the library is in a nice enough area that I can go explore other places when I wish.

I have learned much, and I hope I remember and retain it for however long I remain alive, which I am starting to think is going to be forever, but at this point I find it better to not dwell on such things.

I come up here during the day, either enjoying a bit of sleep when I feel like it, or spending time with the books by the large and airy window. I have explored a bit of the forest on my spare time.

I will not lie, from time to time I had taken it upon myself to do a little bit of...deliverance to certain unsavory individuals. We still live in tumultuous times, and there is that side of me that seems to have that thirst for pain and violence that needs to be slaked occasionally. I saw what happens to myself if I never engage. It does not get pretty when I do. I suppose it never does, but it has been worse.

Leaving off for now, I will go to the inn a ways away and take a meal there, I think. They use heavy spices in their stew, which I can taste. They have a good strawberry tart, as well, if they have not sold them all for the day. They also have this delightful drink there called coffee, which had started to move to these lands via trading from rather far away. It is dark and bitter, but drinking it boiling hot gives me a nice feeling, and I have grown quite accustomed to it. I sometimes take a decanter with me back to the library.

 **10 August.**

It is exceptionally hot today. Even I feel it. I removed my cloak and tunic to enjoy the air.

I have been reading about the world of astronomy, the study of the stars and planets. There was a wonderful object invented called a telescope. This magnifies things, making them larger, and with it, we can use it to see the stars and planets closer. They are still small, of course, being so distant, but it is fascinating to think what may be on them. We have no idea. There are so many concepts around, so many ideas that turned everything we know upside down, it seems.

It is a tube with specially made glass on either end, curved, that causes the objects to be seen larger. One can actually see the colors of some of the planets at night, when it is clear. It is looking to be clear tonight by the look, so I plan on trying to observe things. My mind wanders, just wondering what else is up there. Are there more people, I wonder? What exists on these other places? One could go mad thinking about it.

The hour is growing later, and I am going to take an evening meal soon and begin my rounds in the library. Mostly I am inside and do a few passes on the large grounds. The library is housed in a place that is basically a castle, or close to it. I also wonder which books I will take tonight to read. I have also taken a liking to advances in the human body. So many more things to learn there, as well.

I hope I get a night soon to go to an observatory again.

 **15 August.**

Still hot. I must unfortunately report that we actually lost a few people in the town due to it. I believe their bodies are going to the academy to be studied. I am curious to join in. While I have seen the insides of a person forcibly, from my own hands, one does not learn much from that. I am curious to actually see the workings from a scientific point of view.

To think centuries before many thought illnesses were spread through miasma.

 **21 August.**

I managed, after talking to a few people, get into the scientific academy to witness the examination of one of the unfortunate individuals.

It was a middle aged man, seemingly healthy on the outside. Upon examining him, his lungs seemed darker than normal. It turned out the man worked making charcoal, which required him to burn large amounts of wood constantly, day in and day out, until it smoldered. Perhaps his weaker lungs coupled with the intense heat being in the sun did for him? We do not know, but it is rather interesting to see how various occupations may affect one's health.

I admit I got a bit jealous. I'd be willing to give up my body for examinations, but I need to hide my little condition, so to speak, from people. The most they have seen me do is lift and carry a frightening amount of books around the library, but I keep it reigned in enough so that perhaps they just think I have done a lot of work lifting heavy object or the like. No one had said anything to me about it.

Still, I imagine this may give me some of the pain I crave still, though since too much of it starts to turn me murderous, I think it is good if I refrain from it even if they knew what I was and were not terrified of it.

I took many notes today in a large tome. I will bring this to the library, as the scholars there love to get new things to place into their collections. I feel honored that I could contribute to such knowledge, even if it is not my findings, but simply me recording what other great minds do.

 **23 August.**

The heat continues. I have set up a place for the ravens to fly inside of my tower, where they will not harm the books. It is much nicer inside, given the cold stone that makes up my room, and the wind adds extra comfort.

I must hide the tarts I bring back, though.

 **30 August.**

I got some time to sit outside with a telescope finally one clear night, two days ago. I was glad, because today the sky became thick with dark storm clouds, and I hear the rumbling from afar. I think we will be getting a large amount of rain and thunder soon, and it may last for some time. This is probably for the best, as it will probably cool things down quite a bit.

What I saw was astounding, almost surreal. I was able to see our moon so close and so clearly. I could see details in it that one could only barely see with the naked eye. It felt almost comforting to look. I must have gazed through the device for an hour or so, trying to examine markings, landmarks, and imagine what might be up there. Are there beings? There does not seem to be much but various shades of gray, but I do not know what else might be lurking there. I wonder if we will ever be able to travel there? Maybe magick, if it exists? Likely impossible, as we cannot even fly, but nice to imagine. I almost felt a connection with this object, so far away. I do not know why.

 **31 August.**

The massive storms have hit. The sky is so dark that it almost resembles the later hours, even in the daytime. I was up very early this morning, and I thought it was still nighttime. I had to shutter my window and bar it heavily so the rain does not blow in. I do hope the ravens are okay. They are wild beasts, and go through a wide variety of storms and rain, so I imagine that they are.

I was awoken by some of the loudest thunder that I have heard, and I made it to my window with only short time to spare before the sky seemingly opened up. There was a large slab of heavy oak that I attached to the shutters to hold them shut. I am lucky I was able to heft the oak alone, as many books may have been damaged. Just in case my quick work would not hold, I have placed the books in a safer spot.

I write now from one of the abandoned large rooms even higher up. Used to store a few old objects, it has a window that I have opened, since I wanted to enjoy the flashes of lightning and the feel of the wind, in so much that I can still enjoy it. There is nothing to be harmed up here. Seeing the almost demonic looking black clouds is actually rather exciting.

I brought a decanter of coffee with me from the inn, as I stopped in to break my fast after another night. Boiling it again in the small fireplace in the room and I am quite content right now.

I may go outside later, despite the bad weather. Right now I am enjoying watching it blow in.

 **31 August.**

I return in the evening after having gone outside. It was rather exhilarating to watch the massive storm as it grew. It still blows on outside, and I suspect we will be under its wrath for several days.

I walked a ways away from the town, the air clearly cooler, though it was still rather warm out. I went without my cloak or tunic, as I felt there was no point. Perhaps a few of the townspeople, who were busily bolting themselves deep underground in their various dwellings thought me mad, but I am sure I leave a bit of an odd impression on them anyway.

Traveling to the edge of the woods, I watched as the trees blew around; the rain was going strong, the droplets almost large enough to visibly see. I half wished for a bolt of lightning to hit me, but alas, I had no easy way to attract it. Perhaps someday.

I cannot remember a time I was out in a storm this bad. Rain, countless times, as it is no bother. But never anything this bad.

And then, I had a moment of joy. Or what I count as joy. The wind blew a branch that was particularly sharp into my shoulder. The pain hit me suddenly and very surprisingly, and for a moment I was in ecstasy. I quickly tried to regain control of myself as I pulled the branch from my shoulder, as I did not want the pain to lead me to one of my more murderous moments, particularly with no questionable people around. But as the rain washed the blood from my shoulder, I was certainly more awake than I was before.

After catching my breath and calming, I continued, the wound in my shoulder beginning to heal as I walked. I almost wanted to be hit with something else, but after remembering the red haze that would start to hit, I thought perhaps it would be better if I didn't.

I enjoyed my time and head back. I had a feeling the ravens residing in my tower may have been getting a touch agitated from the storm, and two of them are still somewhat young.

Now I must get ready to go around the grounds. Especially on a night like tonight. If anyone were to try anything, I suppose it would be on a night where no one would expect anything, especially with some of the particularly more forbidden texts we have gotten. I don't think I want to say too much of them even in my tome here, just for safekeeping.

 **2 September.**

The heavy rains have not let up. Some parts of the town are somewhat flooded, though it is not too serious. I did a favor today and went to get some supplies the inn needed. They seemed odd that I would want to go out in such weather, and on foot, but it did not bother me.

The supplies allowed them to make more strawberry tarts, which I did, of course, indulge in several of.

 **4 September.**

Strange whisperings were heard today. There were a few people in the library whom I do not trust. I will be keeping my eye on them. I thought they were simply coming in out of the rain, which while strong has calmed slightly, but I believe they have more nefarious purposes in mind.

 **28 September.**

It has been awhile.

I am in the process of moving on from my old position. I did so in secret, particularly after what happened.

My last entry, as I see, described how I saw some men whom I did not trust, and I was correct on my feelings. They had found out about some of the forbidden texts, and I knew, if they had brought them to the church, it would have been spelled doom for the people at the library, and possibly for the library itself. They needed the proof, though, so they broke in at night.

I caught them and made quick work of them. I lured them to the basement, so that I did not end up getting blood on the more valuable items. It took awhile to clean up and dispose of the remains. There were three, and after getting a sword through my stomach, I had grown excited again and mangled them all rather horribly. While me killing intruders, especially armed ones which they were, was in my power if necessary, I had left them in such conditions that it may have brought up questions, particularly since I was unarmed at the time. My wounds were hard to hide, as well, as I took a few more during the fight.

Working through the night, I eventually packed my few belongings and grabbed the two forbidden texts, which spoke of spirits, daemonology, and magick. I left behind a large tome from about three centuries ago. I hope in my heart they consider this a reasonable trade, as I did not want to leave the texts behind just in case they had anymore unwanted visitors looking for them. If they books are not there, they have no evidence. But they had been very kind to a stray traveler whom they felt perhaps a bit strange, letting me stay there in return for defending the place, so I did not want to seem like I was stealing.

I left early, before the rest could wake up and arrive, and have made it quite far, due to the speed in which I am able to move. The weather stayed grim for awhile, but thanks to treated leathers which I wrapped my more valuable belongings in, they have stayed dry. The same cannot be said for me or my ravens, who have been rather irritable as of late.

Funny that I call them my ravens now. I do not own them, but they seem to enjoy my company every so often.

Also I find it funny that I have written more over the centuries. I suppose I find more to say since I have seen so much, though part of it may be me starting to feel alone from time to time. I occasionally attempt physical pleasures with people in particular establishments, but I find that nothing really works for me these days. A pity.

Hopefully I will be back to this tome in some time. I am sure that I may end up letting this go for another century again, but only time shall tell, I suppose.

–


	5. 19th Century, England

**10 October.**

I grow weary.

I wish I could open this on more of a festive note, but I cannot think of any other ways around this. I have seen so much and continue to see more, and do not get me wrong, the things I have witnessed over the past six hundred and some years have been nothing less than phenomenal. But I still grow ever so weary.

I had decided to journey to England, which is now called Great Britain. It is a wonder of various technologies. There are steam engines, large vehicles which carry people around quickly on rails. Horse and cart are still used as well. I write this with a different sort of pen, and I have seen many other advances, including advances in both medicine and science.

Yet, I still grow tired. Things, perhaps, are moving too quickly for me. Maybe I feel my old brain cannot keep up with such quick development. I do not think human beings were designed to live past a hundred some odd years, give or take, depending on one's individual health. I would love to speak to another centenarian, not giving away my own condition, of course, but I wonder how someone who has lived to a hundred feels, though I know they are exceedingly rare.

I try to find joy in things, but it is so, so difficult. Even the foods I liked grow less and less appealing. The only thing that drives me on is the occasional pain that I submit myself to.

I will stop for now. Perhaps I will come back in a better frame of mind.

 **18 October.**

Some rather frightening murders have happened by a man they nicknamed 'The Ripper.' I tried to investigate, but I have come up with naught.

I do not want to get too involved.

 **20 October.**

I have tried to fill my days with menial tasks. For some time, I volunteered myself to work with breaking stone for the railroads. It is easy work for me as I do not tire, but I found I have to hold back as I was breaking the stone so quickly that they began to look at me strangely.

My appearance tended to make people feel odd, as I tend to be a bit...dated on my clothing. I had opted to attempt to fit in with a long coat, tall boots and trousers, though I still tend toward black. I spend some time drinking ale at the pub, but I find little joy in it.

 **22 October.**

Let me go more into things.

I am, again, tired. I may attempt rest, and thanks to some medical journals I have an idea how, is not me giving up on life in the way you may talk someone out of ending theirs. I have lived too long. Far too long. We are not meant to be immortal, I know this now. I should have been dead before I was thirty. I was glad for the chance to perhaps try again, but I did not know it came with such a heavy burden.

I am glad to have been able to record as much as I have, and I do hope that perhaps this ends up in a museum of sorts, though I suppose it will likely just end up somewhere as the ramblings of a madman. I am sure a museum could perhaps use that, as well, particularly one of the more morbid ones.

 **31 October.**

Well, I live. I am convinced I will live forever.

I had decided to just take it into my own hands with a specially made spike. A long, metal spike, that I thought perhaps sending it through my head, at a certain angle, would destroy the proper areas of my brain and end my life finally. I had actually been working on this item for a very long time, every since I learned a bit about anatomy. I simply saved it for when I felt I wanted to use it.

This did not work. I woke up right away. I shoved it through with my own hand, and all it did was excite me. I do not think I blacked out for more than a moment, in fact.

But I have renewed vigor, somehow.

I cannot explain, but somehow, the spike, which is still through my head, had done something to me. Perhaps because I now have a reminder of my immortality? I cannot say. Perhaps I have gone truly mad. I count myself lucky I was far away from people, as I fear I may have gone out on a spree I was so excited from the act.

I am glad I did this. I feel better. I still feel lost, but I feel somewhat better. I do not know what my purpose is, but I am convinced I have some. I just need to find it. Even if it takes me another three hundred years, I will find it. If I have to wander confused for some time, so be it.

I can find things to do. I can learn. I can still fight. I have still taken it upon myself to do damage to some of the more despicable beings. The other night I came across a den of thieves who hid out near the banks of the filthy waters whom had actually murdered someone who was on their way home. I made sure none of them would leave their den again.

And I can still report things in this book. It has grown rather nicely. After my attempt at entering Valhalla had failed, I had decided to read it again. I have seen such things that I can safely say no one else in the world right now has seen.

I mentioned I liked to read. I found a story titled 'The Raven.' It was rather beautiful, truth be told. I hope it becomes more widespread. Perhaps not everyone will find it as lovely as I did, as I found I have taken a much more morbid sense of aesthetics over the centuries, but I do think it is worth reading. Speaking of the ravens, yes, I still have them. I stay in a simple abode out of the city, closer to nature, where I have taken to liking a bit more. The ravens oft come to visit me there.

The various establishments do have some decent fare if I can get it heavily spiced and seasoned enough. Boiling coffee is always a joy still.

Well, this was a random and disjointed entry, and for that, my apologies. I will return, perhaps, with something that makes more sense, maybe after I have pondered what I have ahead of me.

 **2 November.**

I think perhaps discussing some of the more interesting aspects of technology is the best thing to do. It is bizarre sometimes. Not only the technology, but the knowledge. How illnesses are caused. Substances we thought were useful we now know are poison, even though they do not affect me. Architecture has changed in vast ways. I admit I sort of miss the giant castles of the day, and while they certainly still exist, they are not in the number they used to be.

I sometimes go watching the various people around. Much like always, there are people of different classes. The poor live in these shantytowns, which is what they call them, near rivers and down in rather dirty areas. They scavenge and sell the items for money. The rich live in these amazing homes. I was in one before, when I discovered one which was without an owner. I decided to go inside and look around, simply to satiate my curiosity. I could live somewhere like that, but I'm not sure if anyone would sell a large house to a man who still has medieval gold with a large spike through his head.

Oh, yes, the matter of the spike. Well, it does not bleed, and simply looks like I am an eccentric fellow. I can feel people that are beyond uncomfortable around me, so I mostly only go to various stores and the like for supplies when I absolutely have to. There is a bakery that has wonderful tarts, however. I put up with the stares. I simply pass my new acquisition off as a sort of strange fashion.

 **12 November.**

Well, it was only a matter of time. Some men came after me, thinking me mad; they wanted to take me to an asylum. Naturally, I did not go quietly. After they saw my strength, they definitely thought me mad, and came after me with clubs.

I almost managed to hold back, but whenever the pain courses through my body, I simply lose control of my power. I did not mean to kill the four, but I did. One of the few times where I actually did want to hold back, but their blows finally drove me to the point of where I start to thirst for blood, and that was that.

How many of these entries end with me killing? All of them, it feels. Even some of the more pleasant times in my life. It is is like violence follows me. I mostly just wish to be left alone to my books, to learn new things over the years. Yes, I enjoy pain, and yes, pain drives me to violence, but if I inflict the pain on myself when I am not around others, it it of little issue. The haze passes.

I suppose even way back, when I would fight with a near berserk fury, this stayed with me somehow. I feel so out of place with it now, though. It feels like the people here are much more civilized, and that I simply do not belong. Perhaps I should move onto a place that feels more like I can use the skills given to me. Even though I try to somewhat join in with the rest, my condition simply does not allow it. Being estranged from one's fellow humans can take a toll on one's mindset, and perhaps I should go think things over somewhere else for awhile.

 **15 November.**

I stocked on supplies, including a healthy amount of tarts from the bakery, whom still do not seem to mind my patronage, and will be on the next ship back to the mainland. I think I will travel back to Romania, to visit the land of Transylvania. I have not been there for quite awhile, and I wonder how things have changed since the last time I was in the area, when it was much different, broken up into many different parts and conquered by different people. A dark time and place, to be sure, but perhaps things are somewhat different now.

I have also taken with me several of these fountain pens, and a few smaller books to write in, as while I can carry my large tome with no problems, I sort of want to perhaps move onto writing into something more modern.

And with that, I am off on my journey. I am going to try to keep writing more. I wish to perhaps keep up with more than every two centuries. I will begin again after I spend some time in Transylvania.


	6. 19th Century, Transylvania

**3 March, 1890.**

I should start recording the years in these journals.

Spring is beginning to arrive, though the weather here has continued to be dark and dreary. It is almost like a malignant force spreads over this land. It is hard to explain, but I can literally feel the evil force. I don't know if this land was cursed those centuries back, or what.

The small towns I stopped in are populated by people whom seem extremely wary of anyone, not just myself. Both wary and almost afraid, not only for themselves, but for others. I do not know why, as if I try to ask what is wrong, they do not answer, quickly changing the subject, as if they fear someone may be listening. They do serve food that I can somewhat taste, even though my tastes have gotten even more muted nowadays. I can barely even taste some of my favorite tarts anymore unless they are particularly richly spiced, though I found an inn of sorts that will put extra in for me. I thanked them with a spare few pieces of silver, which they were absolutely ecstatic about, given it's worth. I can now get about anything on request here, though some of the patrons still give me the 'evil eye.'

 **7 March.**

The dreary weather has not let up. It is not cold, but rather warm and exceptionally windy. I am happy to have my large, old codex now wrapped up tightly in furs and oilcloths, well protected, and I am writing in something smaller now, which I keep safe on my person. It would be a pity if anything were to happen to my smaller books, but the large one is the one I wish to protect the most, given it's age.

The inn I am staying at is out of the way enough in a small enough place that I generally am not bothered. It is inexpensive, and two of my centuries old silver pieces were enough to get them to put me up for a rather long time, I suppose until I grow bored.

I wish to explore the countryside some. There are some impressive looking castles and structures here, once again near the Carpathians, and I almost wonder if my old abode from about four hundred years ago still remains, though I regret to say I do not remember exactly where it was, and this is a large countryside.

The mists had descended on the land this morning, and between the dark clouds and the occasional rain, it looks nearly dark even in the morning. The forest is slowly beginning to come alive again, though most of the leaves are still but buds, and the fact most of it still looks dead makes it look like it is almost from a work of horror.

I am unfazed, though I can understand why others may be afraid.

 **10 March.**

I had to defend the town today, and I feel that a few more people fear me because of it.

A massive pack of wolves, seemingly mad but far too intelligent for their own good, attacked. One man was killed on the outside. I ran out to try to frighten off the pack, but was attacked by the alpha and his mate. With no choice, I killed them both, breaking their necks. They did not get a chance to cause serious damage to me, which could have turned out very badly.

After the two died, the rest of them disappeared into the mists. It almost feels the beasts were cursed. Perhaps the people here are not completely off in their thoughts that there is something dreadfully wrong with this land. No one knows what it is. It could be dark magick, though I am still not sure if such a thing exists. Truly, there were something wrong with those wolves for them to attack a town like that, as the beasts are generally the kind to keep away from humans unless they are starving. These wolves looked well fed, and I can attest to seeing plenty of game for them to hunt in the woods as I have explored them. They also did not look ill.

My ravens seem very uneasy, too. Much more restless than usual. They sit on my windowsill, sometimes wanting to come in, though I try to respect the owners in not having wild birds inside. I make sure to save them some extra food at least.

Going back to my story, they, the townspeople that is, seemed uneasy with the ease I was able to dispatch the two huge wolves, though they thanked me nonetheless for rescuing those that I did. I do feel like I am being watched more often, but to be sure, I am so used to that now, especially with my odd choice of head ornament, that it does not bother me.

Besides, I know they cannot hurt me anyway, even if it did bother them to the point of attacking.

I will continue to keep an eye out. I will patrol around the town at night, around the outskirts. My eyesight is keen enough to see around the dark mists. I find it rather exhilarating to walk about late at night, where I know the townspeople are terrified. At least I am making it so other watchmen can stay inside, where there is torchlight.

 **14 March.**

I fear I may have to move on soon, as I think I have certainly scared some of the townspeople now. I have had to protect the town again, but this time, from some sort of mad criminals or some such ilk.

I do not know who they were. They seemed...possessed. Cursed. I do not know, but I am convinced at this point there are dark powers at work which I do not think many people can comprehend.

They attacked with weapons, seemingly errant. They managed to kill two watchmen, and seemed to almost have a feverish strength and fortitude about them. When the watchmen tried to use their clubs, they did not seem to falter much. However, they were definitely not like myself, as when I went on the attack, they broke apart just as easily as any other men I have fought.

As usual, I got the urge to let them hurt me, so I did. They showed no fear as their blades struck me and did nothing, but I certainly ended up going berserk after enough time. I expect it. After a certain threshold of pain, it sends me toward the berserk rage until my foes are dead.

I think the townspeople thought me just as much of a beast as these people had been. There was not much left for me to examine, unfortunately. That is one regret, I would have liked to possibly examine the men to see what drove them to their murderous rage.

Still I wonder when I will be able to get through a set of entries without having engaged in a rampage of death. I suppose this is part of my curse, perhaps being a soldier in life and having probably done some rather nasty things in the name of the church, maybe now I am, like how I wrote long ago, cursed to continue on with things. I can stop it, but the pain is too engaging. It is one of the few things that drives me on anymore. I take what I can get.

Nevertheless, after leaving the attackers in bloody and broken pieces, I was not chased off, as I prevented many more deaths, but looked upon with much unease. Some gave signs of the cross to me.

I think, to alleviate their fears, I will leave the next night. There is probably another village nearby to take me in for some time while I explore. Maybe I will take some time out in nature for awhile.

The inn owner, while wary, still supplied me with a handsome amount of food, as well as my favorite treat. They seemed almost reluctant to let me go after what just happened, and I was not being chased away, but I simply did not want the people to be concerned.

I hope that I am not leaving these people to their doom.

 **17 March.**

I have never seen the moon at this size before without a telescope. It is gigantic, and seemingly red. It almost looks cursed, though I am intrigued by it.

Besides my birds, bats seem to be abundant in these woods. They mostly do not bother us, but it is astounding just how many there are. I said mostly as a few of them seemed to go after a raven, and the raven seemed a little confused afterward. I suppose it will be okay, if not, then it is the laws of nature. I do not own the birds, after all. They are animals who feed on blood, and it is not their fault when they find something to feed on.

I am camped this night in a think part of the forest, the mist is everywhere, and I think perhaps a normal human would have passed out from fright by now. I welcome any danger. It lets me have what little fun is allowed to me.

The weather is strange; it is halfway between warm and chill. The air is warm, but the wind blows so hard it grows chill, but the mist that hangs in the air does not add much in the way of moisture; it is almost like it is not fog, but something else.

In many decades I have not felt the possibility of magicks being real, but I certainly feel it here.

 **23 March.**

I have moved further, and began to examine one of the abandoned castles that occasionally dot the landscape. This one is well worn down, though proved to have some rather interesting bits inside of it. As someone who comes from history, I have taken also to collecting it when I can, and I found some rather interesting tapestries and bits inside of this one, though I have no way of telling how old they are for certain.

They do seem to share some of the designs from around the 1500's, though, so I would be willing to say they are from around the time I was exploring about this area the first time. Which is very strange to write, I admit.

The mists have not subsided, and now the clouds spread across the sky as if someone is summoning them. It is so dark to travel, I had to start using a torch, as keen as my eyesight is. I decided today that I would stay at this castle for the next few days, as there are still rooms that are hidden from the elements. It even has a rookery for the ravens to come if they feel uncomfortable outside.

I want to examine this castle some more, and I would like to see what else happens with these strange patterns outdoors. I am curious to know if actual magick is involved or not.

 **25 March.**

It is still quite dark. Even the daytimes feel darker than they should be this time of year. The wind has picked up, though the mists seem to stay.

I noticed a few things over the past two days of exploring around the area. Firstly, there are a few other castles about, which I can see when I stand on the tallest towers. One of them I swear could be occupied, though it seems like it is a bit of a journey away.

Second, the vegetation around this area seems wrong. Some of it seems stifled. The forest seems fairly dead, except for some mandrake plants, which are known by some as deadly, able to kill a person if they uproot one. While I know this is false, I know many of the people around have superstitions that make them wary of the plant.

Third, the bats and the wolves seem unusually bold here. The wolf pack that had attacked the town was like something I have never seen, and I had seen others prowling around. I was able to chase them off, but I feel that we sensed something unnatural about each other. It is not a bother if they attack me, though this group has not.

This particular castle has some interesting aspects. I found some boxes in the dungeons, filled with dirt. It was bizarre. I examined them, and it was, indeed, just dirt. I do not know why anyone would keep dirt in boxes in dungeons, but perhaps the previous occupant had some strange habits. Or perhaps it has been here awhile. It almost seemed like they were being stored. I suppose some of the people with their strange superstitions may have a reason for this. Perhaps if I can find a library I could read up on customs and beliefs, though I have not seen anything resembling one. I am tempted to head toward the castle that looks occupied, but I have no idea how long it will take me to reach it, nor do I even know how to get there. Something one sees on the horizon can look much closer than it is.

I think I will stay here awhile longer. I grow comfortable in these old castles, as I have quite a penchant for old things.

 **27 March.**

Going into the nearest town for some supplies and to talk to some of the people, I came across a wondrous device. It is called a camera, and it is used to actually record images of people using light and chemicals. It is the most curious thing. They do not travel well, I am told, and actually getting the images onto paper is difficult and requires very careful handling, and special chemicals, but it is amazing. I hope they keep developing them.

I watched a traveling man use it on people, as he was selling the service. Some of the townspeople looked upon the device as cursed. Others were as fascinated as I. I regret to say he did not take old silver as payment, as I fear he may have thought it fake, but for that I cannot blame him.

The town is friendly mostly, though some people still look upon me with dread. One woman offered me a rosary if I was traveling out again, but I kindly declined, as I have left that part of my life behind long ago. I assured her I could take care of myself.

The mists have remained, and I am now completely convinced they are supernatural. The dark clouds have not parted, either. Storms hit now and again, and the winds are rather fierce. The mists not churning as much in the fierce winds also tells me something is strange. Why someone would want the ground cloaked in mists, I am not sure, but perhaps it is the remnants of something else.

I will go study these boxes of dirt some more. Usually dirt is just dirt, but it was obviously packed into these boxes purposefully. Perhaps I will find some trinkets of value, though I am sure my ravens would fly off with them if I left them out.

 **2 April.**

After examining the dirt, it truly is just dirt. It is a different color than the dirt in this area, which tells me it was brought in, making it all the more intriguing. I have no way of telling where it's from, so I feel my examination stops here, but it was a fun curiosity while it lasted. More curious was that the boxes were clearly recent, no more than a year old if I could tell by their condition, as the wood was fairly plain, though still intact.

I think soon I will move on again. Perhaps I will try to examine the larger castle, or perhaps I will consider going someplace else. Farther away. Across the Atlantic Ocean. America seems like it could be a curious place to visit, the way I hear people discussing it. I have been in Europe now for seven centuries, seeing it change so much.

But because I still find myself getting weary if I do not keep my mind occupied with such activities as examining dirt, I think, perhaps, a new environment altogether can help. I know many ships travel over there, so I think after I am done here, I will head to the nearest place and begin to inquire how I may go over.

I hope my spike does not alarm too many people. I could always stow away.

I will miss my ravens though for sure. I doubt they will be able to make the trip across the ocean. Perhaps I will meet some new companions overseas.

Let us see what happens with this, shall we? At this point there is little left for me to do but attempt to keep my everlasting life something that does not turn into drudgery and desperation. Some nights are worse than others. I have managed to stave it off here, but I do feel perhaps a change of location will do me well.

 **10 May.**

I am now located in the hold of a huge ship, heading across the Atlantic. I left from Amsterdam, which I did spend some time in since it was rather interesting. I am usually not one for larger cities, but I feel I might as well get used to them, as I think I am going to be in them much more often now.

I am on a steamship, which apparently makes the journey in perhaps a week, but of course that does not account for poor weather. I do dearly hope we do not run afoul of miserable weather, as my tomes are valuable to me. I am not worried about myself, I will probably just wake up from anything that happens and continue swimming somewhere, but the loss of my tomes would actually pain me. I would also be quite sad if I lost a few of the things I have collected over the years. But, we shall see if luck holds. These trips are surprisingly safe.

My ravens, naturally, did not come along; I am sure they will be fine. It is not like I have the same ravens over the centuries. I sometimes think about if they are of the same family line. I am sure I have probably thought about it more than they did. But I am sure they will find another person to follow if they wish, and I am sure I will meet some more when I get to America. We will be pulling into New York harbor, and I am told that the city is bigger than anything that I have ever seen, so this should prove intriguing.

I hope my spike does not alarm too many people there. I believe my mannerisms and ways of dress may be slightly out of date, though I have usually not bothered keeping up with various fashions.

It is time for me to explore my home for the next week. The people here are nice enough, looking quite hopeful to try something new. Most of them keep their distance, though they are amicable enough. I will return likely after I get to see what awaits me for the next chapter of my seemingly endless life. If it brings me more than drudgery, I welcome it.

–

A/N: Though much of this story uses historical accounts of things, it doesn't mean the entire story is. It is based, after all, on Guilty Gear, which also uses some actual events of the past(like the Crusades and such), but with healthy doses of it's own fiction. I thought calling out Dracula, since that is what this story was sort of influenced by, would be fun. (The dates actually line up before the novel begins, which is in early May.) I had to figure out how perhaps Raven would reach where America is for the first time, and decided this would be a fun way to go about it.


	7. 1992, Interlude

A/N: Pretty graphic violence in this chapter, so just giving a heads up.

–

Running a hand through his fairly long, white hair, the pale man looked out over the city from his high balcony. He was enjoying the rich sunset, which had not seen in awhile. It was near summer, warm, and surprisingly clear. The days had been mostly gray, and the weather forecast predicted more clouds rolling in probably the next morning, but for now he would enjoy the scene.

Above him, some ravens _caw'd_. It was odd they would be in the city, but they seemed to follow the man everywhere. He looked up, smirking slightly. He liked when the ravens would follow him, particularly when he would go to dispense his form of brutal justice; he would do it all while letting himself enjoy a bit of pain, one of the few things his body allowed.

The man called himself Raven, as the nickname had been given to him back in the late fifteen hundreds. He kept it, as he no longer remembered his birth-name, Falke. It worked fairly well. He considered trying to pick out a proper name for himself one day soon, if he could find one he decided on. Perhaps he would allow someone to suggest a name for him.

Right now, he was fairly serene. When it got dark, he would be heading toward a seedy and dangerous area to intercept a potential tragedy, hopefully turning it around.

The city had various areas; upper class, middle class, lower class, and the shadowy underbelly where there were many organized crime rings of up and coming syndicates, crime families and empires. Mostly they fought each other and Raven did not get too involved, but when they would spread out and bring other people into their mess, he would take it upon himself to step in. He had single-handedly been responsible for eradicating one small crime family in a spectacularly gory fashion that made the investigators retch when they found the hideout; however, this only deterred the others temporarily.

Just recently, Raven had heard of one of the crime syndicates-a particularly bloodthirsty one who seemed to want to make a name for themselves-were planning some rather nefarious work; this work involved kidnapping the teen children of a rival group, one that was not particularly nasty in their ways, and dealt in much lighter things.

Raven may have been a man who had lost most of his purpose in life, but there were two things out of a scant few that he liked; pain, and turning that pain around on anyone who hurt him. It became almost an addiction to him. He did not necessarily _like_ this aspect of himself, but he grew to accept it.

But he did not have an evil heart, so he chose to turn it around on people who deserved it. Unless he restrained, it would almost always end in the messy death of anyone he struck. He had inhuman physical strength, which to this day, even after about eight hundred years, he had no idea where it came from. He simply used it for what he could.

Being alive so long caused him to attempt to end things out of a desperation of almost nothing giving him joy; it had been about a hundred years since he tried, but it did not work. He still had the massive metal spike through his head, which he passed off as a sort of fashion statement. Given his choice of clothing, it actually fit the excuse. He kept it to remind himself of his state.

After a lot of self-convincing, he decided to modernize his clothing a bit; he had generally been about a century behind in his life. Looking much like a fellow that would be in a heavy metal or gothic club, he chose loose leather trousers and heavy combat boots; the latter were worn slightly open at the top and had obvious steel caps. A loose, black tank top always adorned his torso, as did a sleeveless dark blue hoodie and a sleeveless light longcoat on top of that; heat did not bother him, but he preferred his arms to be free. His hood was often worn up, a hole cut in the back to make room for the spike. The hoodie was cotton and often worn unzipped. His coat had a sort of stylized, very rough avian-like design on the back.

He pierced himself many times, enjoying the pain. He had several in each ear, one through his lower lip, one through his tongue, and one through each eyebrow; he had also taken it upon himself to go for both nipples and elsewhere, as well. He had decided to invest in a set of piercing needles, which he would occasionally slide through the skin on his arms or through his cheeks. These healed quickly as he took them out.

With the exception of his tongue, his piercings were small spikes, to match the spike in his head; in a bit of his dark humor, he found it fitting.

On the index and middle fingers of each hand he wore large claw-rings; these were used as weapons when he fought, thought they were not needed. He could crush bone with a single blow from his fist or boot.

Most of his time these days were spent writing, wandering the city and taking photographs, or just sitting in the back of the biggest library or in the corner of the seediest bar he could find. He somewhat enjoyed blindingly strong alcohol, which hardly affected him except to warm his stomach. He got very little in the realm of taste anymore; his drinks were basically limited to extremely strong alcohol, boiling hot and overly strong coffee, and the occasional water to fit in with society. Food was whatever kept his body running, which he did not even need to do, but he liked to do to still feel human. His lanky build-he was more powerfully built in his first life, when he was an active soldier-belied his massive strength.

People tended to steer clear of the rather tall and creepy looking man, though to most, when he was out of combat and not inflicting pain on himself, he was soft spoken and rather polite regardless.

Deciding to take a picture of the pleasant sunset-he quite liked photography-he decided to go hide out in his flat until after midnight, when he took off toward the hideout.

He knew that authorities often had troubles with this place, but since it was in a forsaken part of the city they paid it little mind, as it was an abandoned building that people would meet up in to take care of shady deals and the like.

His keen ears could pick up voices. He found it odd that his hearing and sight stayed sharper than ever, even substantially better than a typical person-but his sense of taste, smell, and touch left him. Taste, he was thankful that he still had a few things that he could enjoy. Things that were heavily spiced, extremely sweet or just very strong still registered with him.

His sensitive hearing probably helped him save the people inside. He was able to hear them-muffled, so he could not tell what they were saying-but enough that he knew where they were. Carefully, he crept around to the basement doors, and with a quick flick of his clawed fingers, was able to rip the lock off quietly and without issue. He left himself into the dank basement, his keen sight using the bits of light to pick his way through and to the stairs that let him up to what happened to be the kitchen.

It was empty. He was thankful.

Not that he was worried about himself. He could take anything they had to give and then just turn it back toward them a hundredfold. But he feared that if a scuffle broke out before he could rescue the victims, they would end up killing them out of spite, and he did not want that.

He was also pleased the men were upstairs, probably planning out a few things. He was able to make his way to the room where the victims were much easier.

The teens-a boy and a girl-were tied to the chair, terrified. They had been roughed up, though looked okay. Raven could pick out the voices better now, and it did not sound good for them. They were planning on killing them to send a message, even after any money was paid. He got the impression this small group tended to cause anguish for thrills.

They could cause him _all_ the anguish they wanted.

He crept toward the chair, reaching his hand out and snapping the ropes on the teens to let them go. He pointed outside, a deadly serious look on his face. The two did not hesitate; they ran and never looked back. They did not even look twice on how quickly he snapped the thick ropes; they didn't care. They just knew they were free.

He then kicked a chair over loudly, waiting patiently for the men to arrive; it broke when it hit the wall. His clawed fingers tapped on the wall ominously as he stood there, leaning against the wall casually, his boot resting against it and his arms lightly folded. He said nothing.

One by one, they ran in, shouting in confusion. When they saw the broken chair in the dim light, curses filled the room; there were roughly six men, all wearing a mix of either suits for the higher-ranked men, or more casual wear. Most were armed in some way. They were clearly the muscle used to kidnap the teens to hold them hostage, and as Raven heard, probably would be the ones who had killed them.

He took a loose, almost hypnotic, fighting stance. Raven did not study any particular styles, but simply used his body in ways that he knew how along with his brute strength to fight. He had learned quite a bit in his centuries alive, and even if he hadn't, his seeming inability to die coupled with his power would render that moot.

"Who are you?!" one yelled. "What have you done?!"

"Turned them loose."

"What?! Who do you work for?!"

"No one."

The biggest man ran forward, shoving Raven against the wall. He grunted...but it was not in pain. He grinned.

"You freak, what have you done?!"

Raven simply shrugged, shoving the man away roughly. He stumbled, looking surprised at the lanky man's strength.

The big man threw a punch, striking Raven square in the mouth. His head snapped back for a moment, though when he moved back forward, licking some of the blood off of his lips, he grinned.

The rest of the men came at him, though he decided to toy with them a bit; dodging some attacks, and lashing out with his clawed fingers to rip at some of their clothing, though he then would purposefully take some hits as well.

They didn't get them to hurt enough, though, even after a few moments. Their fists and even their knives did little.

The men finally began to shoot; as the bullets struck his torso and arms, he finally began to grow excited. His pupils contracted into pinpoints; in the light of the place, in his outfit, he looked almost like a demon of sorts. He dashed around, occasionally lashing out with his clawed fingers in a controlled manner, tearing at the men just enough to prolong the fight. The men did not know how he was still standing; but they seemed to start to grow slightly afraid at this point.

He finally shoulder-checked one man to the floor and walked over, wiping his mouth.

As he stood over him, the man lifted his handgun and fired. The bullet hit Raven next to his spike, above his eye. The wound was neat and small, as it was a small caliber weapon, but it should have killed him easily; he should have been dead several times over. His head bent back; he arched his back at a dangerous angle, and time seemed to slow for the men as they watched, waiting for him to fall.

When he stood back up and looked down, an enormous grin on his face and a stream of blood running down from the hole, the man became too terrified to even pull the trigger again. He began shaking. Raven's heart began beating faster; the pain of the hot bullet firing through his head had been something he had not felt in ages. He could feel the sting of the wound healing, and his tongue slid out to lick a streak of the blood from his face.

" _Kill him, for christ's sake!"_ were the only words that he remembered hearing, if you asked him about this day. They had been yelling confused words; wondering why the white haired man would not die, but he remembered little of this.

As two more bullets tore into his arm, he reached a peak that he had not in a long time; he could feel the muscle contracting around the ammunition, almost instantly pushing it from his flesh, and it all hurt like hell.

As the man on the ground tried to escape, Raven's expression changed to one halfway between rage at what he was going to do and sheer excitement of his situation; he then proceeded to smash his heel down onto his face. In a flash he destroyed the entire top half of his head, even denting the floor; the only thing remaining was the lower half and his twitching corpse; the red mixture of gore had spread out to nearly a meter around from the force.

The grin on Raven's blood-spattered face as he turned his head toward the rest of them caused them to freeze in terror.

At that point, it turned to slaughter; he had reached his peak of battle-rage; the masochism that fueled him turned to sadism. One of the few things that he enjoyed were people who could force him into his murderous state, and while it took about two dozen bullets and several stab wounds, they had succeeded.

They could not escape; they had no idea how he could reach so far out, but he seemed to dislocate his joints to grab one of the men to slam him into the floor with unspeakable force. His body gave under the power, twisting into a grotesque form upon striking the ground.

The rest did not take long for his rending claws to rip them to pieces; even if they could kill him, they could not catch him as he practically flew around the room, leaping off walls, attacking them from the air. The final man found himself cornered as he thrust his claws home into him; he followed with his other hand. He repeated this again, and again, stabbing him nearly half a hundred times. Blood flew, the expression on Raven's face manic. He stabbed him so quickly the man did not seem to realize he was dead yet, still staring blankly at the man in black.

He followed with a crushing kick, smashing his head in as the man doubled over. The mangled corpse hit the wall with a boneless _thud._

Looking around, the haze begin to slowly drift away. The pain had subsided; his body had ejected the last bits of ammunition. In a fleeting thought, he found it curious that the piercings stayed in. Perhaps it was a strange subconscious thing, or perhaps it was something else. He didn't know. He just knew he was unnatural anyway and didn't think about it too much.

Leaving the carnage behind, he walked out. The two young teens were nowhere to be seen; he supposed they had run off. He hoped they would not run into more trouble.

Taking his time to head quickly back to his flat to clean himself of the blood and viscera, he threw on a new set of clothes-which resembled his old ones near exactly, with the exception of the hoodie being red instead of a dark blue-and left. He would clean the rest later.

He went to the small store that stayed open all the time on his corner; he grabbed a few items, including a very large cup of near-boiling coffee. He then took off to the top of the tall building next door to his, leaping lightly up the fire escape. He crouched on the top by the edge, looking out. He was glad he did not miss the sunrise.

Out of the pocket of his jacket, he pulled one of his favorite treats; a glazed cherry pie. He ripped the waxed paper off of it, taking a bite and smiling at the bit of sweetness that was still allowed to him. He felt calm, almost serene, now that his thirst for pain and battle had been satiated. He felt fairly satisfied that he had removed the general threat, as he had heard enough about them to decide he didn't want them operating in his general neighborhood. He supposed he wanted to genuinely try to make the world a bit of a better place, though he had no way to do that on a mass scale. He was fairly detached from goings-on; he had a small television which he watched from time to time, but the news would only tell you what they wanted you to.

He watched the sun rise, taking large gulps of the scalding liquid, which gave him a small shiver of pleasure. He had a second pie as well; fighting was one of the few things that made him hungry. It had been awhile since he had watched the sun rise, and he decided to take advantage. He knew the bad weather would be blowing in again this night. He would take that time to fill out a bit of his journal, which he had enjoyed keeping for the vast majority of his long life. He had many stories to tell.

A raven appeared in front of him, looking at him calmly. Raven glared, knowing what the bird wanted. Snorting, though with a small smile on his face, he gave the bird a small corner of his treat.

He may not have been the guardian his little corner of the city asked for, and not many even knew who he was, but he helped them as he could. He had no idea what else to do with his life.

He hoped, perhaps, he would find his purpose soon.

–

A/N: I wrote this chapter as sort of an interlude. I thought perhaps taking him into the 'modern world', it could be cool, if it were, say, in a series, that the previous season ends with him going overseas, and the new season starts with this episode, where Raven himself said very little and the story was told more through actions and scenery. I can actually picture it in my head animated, too, done with very little dialogue and just rich scenery.

It's a bit of a risk to change up PoVs by chapters, but for the sake of the idea I had in my head I decided to give it a try. Does show some of Raven's darker side, which he has been known to have if you have read some of the earlier source material. I can almost see him start to lose himself toward his sadomasochistic murder-spree side if he hadn't eventually been given a purpose.


	8. East Coast, USA, 1992

**12 June, 1992**

Once again it feels it has been too long since I have written. I write this with a ballpoint pen in an ordinary book. I found a rather nice faux leather bound book, fairly thick, that I should try to use to keep my journal going. There are computers now, which I suppose I can use, but I have not figured them out too well yet. I can use both those and typewriters, but I am quite slow on them. I suppose that I have not quite caught up with the times. My original book has been treated several times over, and I keep it in careful storage given its age.

Well, where should I begin?

Technology has moved so quickly in the past hundred years that it has boggled my mind, and has even made me somewhat forget that I have no real purpose right now. I suppose recording what I've seen can be somewhat of one, for now.

From the time I arrived until now, I have seen people develop cars, develop airplanes, fly into space, and fly to the moon. Yes, man has now walked on the moon. There is very little up there but dust, but the fact that I can somewhat remember back during my time in Tuscany wishing to get to go into the stars, I never thought it would actually happen. I think a normal person would go insane. I may be insane, whatever that's worth. I am not sure anymore.

Medicine has taken huge strides. Looking back over my notes, as my memories sometimes grow fuzzy of my oldest days, my time spent checking plague victims was spent back when man thought miasma was responsible for illnesses. Now we can protect against so many of them, and cure many others. I know I write this like someone who has woken up in a new time, but I have no other way of reacting. Getting to see all of this, it is both overwhelming and amazing, and I feel recording it has kept me from going completely mad.

I live in a small apartment in one of the run-down sections of a fairly large city. It has such a wide variety of people, from higher class to lower. Why a bad section, you might ask. I have taken it upon myself to help where the authorities do not. They tend to stay away from the more rough organized crime families for some reason. I suspect they are paid off.

My last hundred years have been spent going various places in America, from New York to various places on the West Coast as well. I have visited the more natural areas, and have gone both north and south to explore. I have not really stayed the same place twice. I decided to come back to the east coast to settle down for awhile until I decide to make my next move.

I do not talk much with the people in my neighborhood, as they do find me eccentric, but they are kind. I wish to make sure despite being beaten down by everyday life, they are not harried by some of the people who try to force money out of them to keep their places safe. I guess I am a sort of vigilante. The authorities who bother to make it down have not caught me. Not that it would matter.

Just one week ago I rescued two teenagers that were the children of another member of another syndicate. I do hope those involved get out before someone gets hurt. I read in the newspaper that the authorities have no idea who causes the bloody deaths of the criminals, and have no idea what sort of weapons they use to render them into the shape that they are in.

In case whoever is reading this might wonder, yes, I am still driven by pain. As time goes on, my senses continue to dull, and I dread what they may be another four hundred years from now. I still can taste a few of my favorite foods, as coffee has gotten much stronger nowadays, and the tarts, well perhaps I should say pies, are so easy to find and incredibly sweet. My favorite kind come in these waxed paper packages and are covered with an intense, sugary glaze.

I listen to rather extreme music these days. I find that soothing sounds cannot do much for me, but loud guitars and rather driving sounds are what I enjoy. Many days are spent in the huge libraries. I do have a television, though I find most of what they play drivel. The music channel is fairly amusing.

My apartment is a small, dim place, with little décor, but it is mine. I keep the building safe from any issues, and the landlord lets me stay without any proper identification for a paltry sum. It is not a particularly high end place, far from it, in fact, but the water runs. So long as you do not mind it cold every so often, and it is a touch musty feeling. But I find a sort of comfort here. There is a small balcony which I can stand on, where my ravens come. Yes, I still have the birds following me. They try to eat my pies.

In any case, perhaps I shall return when I have something more interesting to write.

 **15 June, 1992.**

One thing I forgot to mention the last time. I have discovered the world of body piercing. While it is a far cry to the pain I can feel in combat, it nonetheless acts as a bit of a deterrent for me. I found a place, likely a touch on the illicit side, that sold me a large box of the piercing needles. One of the gentlemen at the establishment referred to them as off the truck. At least I have learned over the years to understand sarcasm.

I have added several bits of jewelry to myself. Why my body does not reject them like it does bullets, I do not know. But I like them.

I will add bullets were a rather wonderful invention, though the pain they offer is short even if it is intense. Looking back over my old entries, I had forgotten to discuss them. I suppose when one's mind is this old you simply forget things from time to time. I have forgotten more than any one human will remember in their entire life.

After some time I have added piercings to my lip, eyebrows, ears, tongue, and a few other parts as well which were, I should say, quite delightful. A pity the pain ended so quickly.

I have, in my time here, made a sort of acquaintance. It is a man who works at a store on the corner of my block. It sells all manner of food and other small items, a sort of 'corner store' they call them. I have chased off some unsavory characters from there before, and we have became sort of talkative. I say he is an old man with a smile right now, because while he is probably in his sixties, I am about nine hundred, but I think the people who read this know what I speak of.

No, I did not horribly murder the people who I chased off. I only do that to the very dark individuals.

He makes an excellent pot of coffee and sells it to me still boiling, and for this I appreciate. He also has a large variety of those pies that I have grown accustomed to. Likewise he will add heavy spices to anything that I ask, which helps my dulled taste. The food is mostly 'crap' as they would say, but I am not a picky individual. I cannot cook for the life of me, so anything works.

I do not know why I never learned this, but I suppose since I can get by on very little, and have little in the way of taste, most of my food is either well over-spiced for others, or I don't particularly care about it. Then again, I have no one to really cook for, so I suppose I never had to learn. Cooking over an open fire was all I needed for centuries.

I apologize for that strange tangent.

Money, you may ask how I acquire it. Well, I sold a few of my old gold and silver pieces to a museum, though I kept some. Besides that, I simply take what the criminals have on them that I kill. They do not need it, after all.

I am on my way to the library to borrow a few books. Reading does still bring me some joy, since there are simply so many things to digest.

 **16 June, 1992.**

I did not mention this apartment where I live is interesting in that I have not, in ages, actually lived in one area for more than a couple of years. So after some months, I decided to take a bit of time to attempt to decorate somewhat. In so much as I know how to decorate.

I have taken to sleeping in a hammock, as the holes in it make it easy for me to lay my head, which is difficult to do on other things. I added a sort of leather couch I got from a place that sells other types of things that I like, and a few other odds and ends. I added a rather nice stereo as well. I suppose I still do not sleep often, but I get the urge a few times a week.

I also acquired a percolator which makes boiling hot coffee which I can drink straight away from it, so I get it at home without even having to go to the store.

My acquaintance, who is named Stephen, has asked me why I have not acquired a vehicle. I am not sure, but I have never much thought about it. I have no limit to my energy, and thus never much run into problems needing a vehicle. Rain nor bad weather does not bother me, either, as I have traveled for days, even weeks in it in my lifetime, even back when I was human on a campaign. Perhaps one day I shall explore the possibilities of a vehicle, though I would not know how to go about learning how to operate it. I suppose books would work.

I feel strange, like I am always some decades behind everyone else. Perhaps I catch up slowly. I do own technology, as said I have a television in my apartment, as well as a phone, though I do not know who I will ever call. The only calls I get are from people trying to sell me various things I do not need. It grows annoying, and I am considering removing it, though I think part of me is trying to stay modern for once.

I find myself missing the sunsets we've had. The rain has been falling rather constantly lately, and I usually enjoyed crouching on the balcony outside of the apartment to watch it rise and set, along with the birds. I suppose perhaps I am more beast than man at times? I do not know. I will say that there is a sort of comfort to the sound of the rain. I find the hammock even more relaxing.

Perhaps I will try to write something of use next time. I find as I grow older my entries grow more disjointed and random, mostly discussing menial things. I wonder if that will even be interesting? What will people say another 900 years from now?

It is at least having a discussion with something, even if it is just a book.

 **20 June, 1992.**

Well, that was an interesting stash of magazines I found hidden away in the library. I did put them back, as I did not want to take anyone's clearly secret stash of anything.

 **21 June, 1992.**

Seems to be storm season, though the sounds are quite soothing to me. I leave the window open to enjoy it as I read some of the books I have taken from the library.

I have taken a few books on psychology, and almost had to stop reading them because I was afraid I would start looking into my own mind too much. A mind that has been alive for almost eight hundred years and has gotten adjusted to being stimulated by pain, I am not sure how this will end up if I delve too far. I suppose I have thought about it. Because I do not feel many sensations others do, my mind began to focus on a few things it could feel. While my memory is fuzzy about bits of time of my earliest past, I remember well waking up after feeling intense agony in the other world, and I wonder if something snapped. I have long questioned my sanity. I cannot feel love, but I hate when I see others unable to, and I dislike evil, though am willing to brutally slaughter anyone doing so, especially if they bring me over the edge.

Yes, I think I will move onto other books for awhile.

I have looked for books on the afterlife, but they all seem to be mindless drivel written by people with no idea what they are talking about. I think I have seen some of them on television late at night. If anything, they are a source of dry amusement.

I found some works of fiction rather engaging. I can see why people may want to escape, so to speak. I am no stranger to fiction, as I have enjoyed it during my time particularly in the 1800s, but I found there is much more of it nowadays. Some much better than others. Some of it I question how it got published.

Also I got collections of newspaper comics. These are rather delightful. I prefer the ones with more subtle humor, as I feel their writers are more intelligent.

I did decide, for perhaps lack of a better judgment on my part, to read a bit about the mindset of killers. I suppose both so I can better track my foes, reading the histories of various criminal syndicates and why they do what they do, but also myself. I simply cannot explain the burning near hatred I get toward people who have thrown their lives toward taking something, up to and including the lives, of people who have not wronged them. People who have abandoned love themselves and try to take it from others.

I suppose it is a form of almost jealousy, that I have lost the capacity to do certain things, and I see people take for granted their ability. Couple this with the driving insanity that pain brings me to, and I suppose it explains my murderous rages and why I take it out on those who I feel are wasting what they are given. Does it make me selfish? Perhaps, but maybe that is something that lets me hang on. Being selfish is human, and anything to let me feel somewhat human is something that I try to accept. And I suppose I tell myself that I am removing unnecessary people from the city's population before they remove people who are more worthy of what they are given.

This entry got rather dark, didn't it? I suppose I feel a bit better discussing it. Maybe I shall discuss the comics more in my next one.

 **23 June 1992.**

Had a rather pleasant discussion with Stephen in the store. I have not had a proper conversation with someone in a very, very long time. Most of it has been simple discussion about varied menial topics, asking directions somewhere, or simply me making purchases. But given that I did not feel like getting wet at that particular moment and the storm that had been brewing picked up heavily, I decided to stand around the store with my coffee and rather greasy sandwich of sausage and egg, which, by the way, are rather tasty, because the sausage is very spicy.

He decided to speak to me. He has never been bothered by my appearance, I could feel. Exchanging the usual pleasantries, he decided to ask me where I came from. Not wanting to completely cause him distress, I told him simply Germany, which is the truth. I just did not tell him when I was born. Most people seem to guess me in my mid twenties to near thirty, which is what I was at the time of my first death.

I was able to discuss some of my time with him without lying, per se. I did tell him I decided to come over after becoming disillusioned with my current situation, which is also true.

He then told me how his grandson was killed in a seemingly random act of violence; he was seventeen. For the first time in centuries, I was taken with sadness. We talked about how he did not get to see him often despite living fairly close due to how busy everyone was, and he seems to have regret there. It is odd to think about such things since I have lost the ability to die. He had many regrets that he did not see him more, and hoped that he was at peace. I do, as well. I also have now wanted to try to find out who did this, so I can deliver my own brand of payment to them for what they did, but I have no way of knowing. It happened roughly a year ago, so it is unknown if the person who did this is still around, or even alive.

Stephen seemed to appreciate me listening, and I was happy to. I have nothing but time. He asked me what I liked to do, and I discussed my general attachment to books and photography, which I will go into soon in another entry. He was curious onto how I could handle coffee so hot, and I simply told him it did not bother me for reasons I did not know. He found it amusing, and I had not laughed for awhile myself, unless one counts the times I laugh during a fight.

He asked my name. I did not know what to tell him. I decided to tell him the name from my old tome that I had recorded, Falke. Was that my old name? I don't remember, but I must have written it for a reason, and it sounds better to say than Raven right now, which I think in these modern times may sound a bit bizarre. I told him I was born in March. I believe that was when I woke up into my new life, though. I do not remember the actual dates.

It feels strange being nameless, as I answer to almost anything right now. Perhaps I will settle on one someday.

I told him I did not have children when he asked, though I did not mention why. Truth be told, I do not think I am capable anymore, though I never gave it much thought, as I do not think I would enjoy watching a partner get left behind and my children die behind me. Seeing how this man grieved for his grandson made me think of the loss one could feel. I wonder what my own parents felt when they got the news of my demise? Did they even get it, I wonder?

It sounds grim, but it is more interesting to me. It was so long ago, and they have moved on to wherever they would. I feel happy for them, in a sense.

Wanting to find out a bit more about him, it turns out this shop has been in his family for two generations before his. It has gone through various renovations, but always remained in its spot. He has actually known some generations of his own, seeing some people grow up and move away. He had taken over the shop when his uncle became too old to do so about thirty-five years before. In a way, his shop is an antique, and I like this.

I was then flattered somewhat when he asked why I have not involved myself in a relationship. I simply cannot fathom it. I said I did not feel like it. Somehow I did not mind answering these more personal questions. It actually felt nice to discuss things with someone on a more personal level, and to actually find out more about someone else who seems genuinely interesting.

After buying what I did for the day, I left, feeling a little better about the future than I usually have been. I of course try not to think about people I will leave behind in my life, but have at least started to try to appreciate the time as it is here. I plan on conversing with him more often, since I go to the store almost every morning, given my hopelessness in the kitchen.

Yes, hopelessness. I managed to overcook packaged noodles the other day. Even the ravens wouldn't eat it. I will remember not to start to read or take photographs while cooking, as I tend to lose my time when doing that.

 **25 June 1992.**

So photography. I mentioned this. Ever since I had seen the camera back in Transylvania, I had wanted to acquire one, and I eventually did, when they made more man-portable versions. I regret that I have lost that one in my moving around, and I hope one day I can get one from it's time back, as I of course have the affinity for old things. Now I simply use an instant camera, but I enjoy going about on the tops of buildings and taking pictures of things at different times of day. While the weather has still been poor, I have some rather nice ones, though I hope for an improvement soon as I wanted to capture a few more sunsets.

I should also mention that I have acquired a microwave oven. They have been around now for some time, and I always thought they were amazing devices, but now I am discovering that for one as incompetent in cooking as I, they make life so much easier. I often used the one at the store where I go, and after I realized it was hard for even me to make mistakes with this, I decided to get one.

My meals have gotten more tolerable. Yes, the textures tended to be bad enough that even I would be turned off. I have loaded up on some extremely hot spices and sauces as well.

Today after taking a few pictures about, I thought about something I discussed with Stephen the other day, and decided to head to the library to view some old newspaper articles. I was curious to know if his grandson's death had appeared anywhere in it, or if it had been one of many that had been simply forgotten due to the number of them that could appear when the syndicates ended up busier than usual. I do not know why I did this, but I had the urge to. I did not know his name, but I simply, at that time, looked for deaths of a seventeen year old that happened in that general area, since it was fairly close to where I live now.

It took awhile, but I eventually, thanks to the use of their systems, found an old article that discussed the shooting death of a youth. Apparently having seen something he shouldn't have, he was coldly gunned down. There was no picture of him, though it did give a few hints onto what group may have been responsible, though the investigation was apparently pending. Later papers never mentioned they had abandoned it, rendering it cold.

I think I am going to take several of these books of articles home and examine them tonight on my own time. I wonder now if they may point to the culprit. I'd like to know who it may have been.

Just out of pure curiosity.

 **30 June 1992.**

I have spent the days and nights during this grim weather reading through many, many articles. They are rather fascinating; I like reading about past events, as one might know, so I ended up getting distracted by some other articles.

I discovered there was a fight of sorts going on between two criminal organizations in those days, and that there were two shootings that took place before the youth's demise. I suspect that he may have witnessed one of these. It could be unrelated, but the time frames add up. A pity the authorities did not look into this very much.

One of the organizations was known to be rather ruthless, which would also fit with the shooting of someone unrelated, though I would think any of them could panic.

I will look into more to see if they still operate, and if they still operate in the same general area.

 **4 July 1992.**

More fireworks. My ravens get frightened. Fireworks have actually been around for ages, but they have gotten much more advanced. I still wonder what it would be like to be hit by some, as I never got a chance to use them in my life. I would try to find out if there weren't so many people watching.

 **5 July 1992.**

I have found out more.

The hour is late writing this entry, but I decided to spend the evening in a very questionable bar around this neighborhood. It is some blocks away, but I was able to sit in the back somewhat unnoticed to listen into what people were planning. I notice that people are not particularly careful in some of those places, though I would think they should be. Perhaps it was the drink.

I only listened into the plans for a routine robbery of a rival group, which is of no importance to me, as it sounds like they are keeping it between themselves. However, they mentioned a certain drug that the rival was known to produce, or a derivative. They were the only organization known to produce it. This intrigued me, as I remember reading something from one of the articles about it.

I wish I could get access to some of the old case files. I may pay a visit to the local precinct which was the one that handled the case, if you could even call I that.

 **6 July 1992.**

I have managed to acquire old case files, though they are thin and were quickly thrown aside, I am sad to say. Thanks to two of my silver pieces, which the secretary, who seemed fairly disgruntled and bored was all too happy to take on, I received copies of everything. They will likely fetch a handsome sum somewhere.

Yes, I am sure now this is the group that was responsible for everything, as the drug ties into them, and they are certainly ruthless enough.

I will take care of things shortly. I somehow have a bit of anger toward them. Maybe because Stephen is a man that I can almost consider a friend, even though it is very loose.

 **10 July 1992.**

It is done.

I had found their hideout, and while I am not sure the man was there, or even alive anymore, made quick work of them again. They were a vicious organization, and dare I say that they will not be missed, even by other organizations who dealt with them, as I had an idea how they dealt with people who upset them.

They had a lot of guns. I was quite pleased at this.

I am not sure I killed all of them, but there were probably ten to twelve people there. I lost count and everything started to run together in the end. Quite literally, I might add. I have been told I have a black sense of humor at times.

Stephen I am sure knows from the newspapers, as it was recorded about the death of them, but I am not going to tell him I am responsible. He feels slightly relieved, as if them even being here was stressful to them. Given that I knew about how they would often threaten establishments, I wonder if they were actually threatening him. If so, then I am quite pleased with what I have done.

I do not want any attention on me, nor do I want him to be afraid, as the papers were slightly graphic with the details. He does not need to know I am a murderer, which I essentially am, despite deposing of vicious criminals.

But it still pleased me to be at the store today, buying my usual breakfast items to take up to the building to watch the sunrise on one of the rare clear mornings we had, seeing Stephen in relatively good spirits.

Even though I now feel my purpose has dried up, I can enjoy a few days before I get back into the drudgery of eternal life.

I sort of wonder what anyone will think of this journal collection. I suppose I sound like a madman in many of these entries, what with the fact people may think it's the ramblings of a man who thinks he is immortal and is also some sort of murderer. It would perhaps make for an excellent work of fiction? Or maybe at least a passable one, given the sometimes random nature of these entries.

 **25 July 1992.**

Well, the heat wave is quite intense. Even I can feel it, and I have chosen to forgo the extra long coat I wear, simply so I don't look as crazy when I am milling about outdoors.

Most stores use air conditioning, and I notice they have more people about them, I suppose to get out of the stifling heat. I have left a bucket of water on my balcony for the ravens. They seem fairly grateful. I regret I cannot do more for them, though I suppose they have been through this before.

This part of the country can have very intense summers and winters, I notice, much like where I was spending most of my time in Europe, though it is much more humid. All things I suppose would have bothered me while alive, now I simply shrug. There is something comforting about the sound of a humming air conditioner though. It is almost enough to cause me to wish to sleep, which is rare.

At the store, they sell these drinks that seem to be made of frozen, slushy ice and have bright colors and flavors. They are sweet enough that I can get some taste, though not quite like I can with my pies. They also turn my mouth strange colors. Whoever thought of selling ice was rather brilliant. I would have laughed for awhile if you had told me they would be selling ice back in the older days of my existence.

Then again there are many, many things I would not have believed. I still boggle on how quickly things move.

I think this evening I will spend some more time up on the top of the building. While the sun is quite warm, I enjoy the breeze up at the top, and I don't much get to appreciate it unless I am feeling such extremes. I enjoy looking over the city, but there are times where I would like to go back to the old ways of life, too. I am not sure if it was the fact that the advancement was slower, but I felt like I had a little more purpose then, with my abilities and knowledge that I carried with me.

I meander with my words again.

 **30 July 1992.**

Oddly enough, I spent this night at a concert of sorts. It was a small one, with various heavy metal bands playing. It was in a small, smoky club some blocks away. I have no idea why I decided to go, but I did. Getting in with my spike took a bit of sneaking, but I managed, and I did not even have to fight anyone. Security was rather lax, to be fair.

It was an interesting time. I enjoyed the music, though I did not speak to too many people. They seemed to be there with their own groups, and I felt like I had little in common with them, despite looking like many of them. They did not take my camera, so I was able to take several photographs of the performance and some of the people. I must have books filled with these.

The alcohol sold at the bar was weak and I suspect cut with water in an attempt to make it last longer for more money, but I said nothing. It is not like I can get drunk, but I attempted to somewhat fit in. The artists all sounded good. I was quite happy to have gone out, even if I did not engage much with anyone. Someone did ask me where I got my headpiece. I told them over in Europe. They looked disappointed. It was technically not a lie.

I stayed out all night, deciding to walk around the city. Most people head inside that late, due to various dangers, but naturally I do not care. It is an interesting place at night. Quiet, sometimes deathly so. Not even the sound of cars in this area. It was peaceful, in a sort of grim way. The smells were muted, as they usually are with me, but it is fairly strange to see a part of the city go into this much decay. I think only roughly half of the buildings get used. I have gone inside some of them to explore. I have found some interesting things lying around, some of which I had taken and added to my odd collections.

I suppose, in a way, I am much like the ravens that follow me. They are also attracted to objects like that to take home. For me, it is to keep them as memoirs of a time. I do have several things I have kept over the centuries, all kept in various places. It is strange what people leave behind in these buildings. It makes me wonder why they left in the first place. I regret not being able to take more with me from over the years, not from a lack of carrying ability, but just due to volume.

One place I visited was an old, decaying factory. I am not sure when it was built, but from the stories I have heard from Stephen, it closed in the 1970's due to various hard times. I suppose the people fell upon hard times with it.

Exploring it was quite fun I have to say. It was dark and decrepit, some of the machines still there, looking like almost malignant and vicious beasts of steel in the dark. Covered in rust and wear, I could almost picture how it was before its fall, even though I did not live here at the time. I collected some bits and pieces, including what seemed to be an old log book, which might be nice to read to see if I can catch a glimpse into the lives of the people who worked here. It was only closed about twenty or years before, but the decay set in very quickly. Twenty years is a drop of rain in the sky to me, but it is interesting to read about people for whom twenty years is already more than a quarter of their lives.

Well then. As I always say, perhaps I will return with more rambling thoughts. I have certainly filled in much. Maybe it is due to my boredom reaching its peak? I do not know.

I will go to watch the moon rise tonight from my favorite perch.

–

A/N: This one went on awhile more, but I thought that Modern Raven would actually have more time to write, not to mention an even easier time of it with modern conveniences(quills and big tomes and parchment are unwieldy.) Raven is a man looking for a purpose, and if spending a lot of time occupying himself with something like that, I could easily see it. Plus, he got to of course indulge in his darker side. I somehow started to like the idea of him getting involved in something that he could track down and see to the end, so I ran with it.

I can also easily see his boredom getting to him, and perhaps writing helps him stave it off, which would explain actually why they tend to get longer over time, the older he gets. I always pictured him as well, despite being quite wise and learned, as always just a little bit behind the times in terms of his terminology depending on what time period he is in.

It's been fun exploring his mind. Of course I think everyone has their own ideas on what happened to him over the time before he met That Man.


End file.
